


Disturb the Darkness

by MaybeMaple



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Godmaster DLC (Hollow Knight), Grimm loves Ghost very much, Grimmchild is Grimm, Higher beings, Old Gods, Post-Dream No More Ending (Hollow Knight), The Grimm Troupe DLC (Hollow Knight), The Void is scary, and given what they are it doesnt matter, ive been told my writing can be scary, so T for that I guess, what kind of love is up to interpretation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2020-11-23 05:15:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 33,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20886707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaybeMaple/pseuds/MaybeMaple
Summary: Now the master of the Troupe, the new Grimm returns to Hallownest on a mission.~“Do not disturb the darkness,” the White Lady warned, “that was the mistake my wyrm made. At last, that great, dark sea is at rest, and I do not wish to change that. I could never stand to look at it. Even in the days before the fall, I refused to accompany my love to that place, for I did not trust myself. The void sea calls to us all. Do not think beings like you and I above its pull, little nightmare.”





	1. An Ancient Altar

The eternal kingdom was no more. Even the husks that had for so long wandered the corridors lay motionless on the stone. Hallownest was not asleep; it was dead. The soft heartbeat of its dreaming form had stilled at last.

The crumbling bridges and dusty cargo of the Forgotten Crossroads were familiar to Grimm. He’d grown up here, after all. After everything, Hallownest was still beautiful, still a marvel to behold. He flew through the ruins tensed for combat but found only silence. It was easy to get lost in this sprawling kingdom. As he plotted his route, memories surfaced: a simple representation of this place, drawn on worn canvas, the scratching of a quill, peering over a shoulder as he tried desperately to understand where they’d found themselves this time. His silent friend had always had a better head for directions than him.

The green wilds along the Pilgrim’s Way were still alive. Certainly, they were quieter than they’d once been, but Grimm could sense movement in the underbrush. Perhaps not all of Unn’s children had been too far gone. Perhaps, now that the more violent gods had torn each other apart she would finally be free to pursue her dream. Grimm did not plan to get in her way.

Where he was going, the moss gave way to thorns. The Queen’s Garden was a humid place, where the greenery felt hostile. It was an overgrown knot of spikes and root, beautiful in how angry it seemed. Grimm picked his way to the centre of the web. He had been here before, several times. Something had drawn the Vessel back here again and again, to listen to the cryptic advice of this cowardly goddess hiding from herself. The roots grew thicker. It was dark among them, the only light their dim, pale glow. Grimm wove between them expertly, tucking in his wings to fit through gaps, or teleporting short distances, leaving a few embers hanging in the air where he slipped in and out of the nightmare realm.

The White Lady sat in the center of it all, wrapped in her self-imposed chains. Though milky with age, her eyes settled upon him as he entered. She was a higher being, after all, ancient and powerful. So was he, Grimm reminded himself, though sometimes it did not feel like it. He landed gracefully on legs he’d only recently gotten used to using, wrapping his wings around himself like a cloak, and bowed deeply.

“Queen-mother,” he greeted, “I have brought you a gift.”

Carefully he produced it, a rose as red as flame. The petals flickered.

“This flower grows only in the nightmare realm,” he explained. “This one grew in the nightmares of Hallownest. It is quite beautiful, and it will never wilt.”

She took so long to answer Grimm grew stiff in his pose, but that was the way of plants. They lived long, slow lives.

“It is lovely.” Her voice was like a song. A root extended towards him like it had always been there, curling around the fragile stem. “But your greeting is misplaced. I am queen of what? Mother of what?”

“Queen of the world’s most beautiful ruin,” Grimm may have been one for poetry, but not for dishonesty, “and mother of a friend of mine… and many others of their like.”

“You’ve grown,” she noted, “when you first came here you were so very small, one could almost forget what you are. Why do you linger here? Has your ritual not been completed? Have you not sucked the last bits of life from my beautiful ruin? I told you, this land shall never bear so foreign a king.”

“Can I not visit the place I grew up? I became fond of Hallownest in my time here. I have travelled its breadth; I have seen far-flung corners of which you have never dreamed.”

Together, they’d charted the far reaches of the kingdom. Grimm had learned so much: how to fight, how to survive, but also the joy of exploration, of being lost, and the overwhelming beauty of quiet places. No, if Hallownest had found a new king, it was not him. He remembered the mark his companion had shown him, burned into their shell like a brand.

“Do as you like,” she spoke like windchimes. “I am queen of nothing and mother of _nothing_. I am sure you are aware, that vessel completed its quest, just as you did yours.”

“You said once that we share a similarity, your spawn and the scarlet heart’s. You were right. The longer we travelled together, the more I understood, the more I saw it.”

The White Lady blinked slowly. “What truly brings you here, little nightmare? Just curtesy? Or is there something wanted of me?”

Did she already know why he came here? How could one ask for such a thing? All he could do was try to explain.

“Time is difficult to understand in this frozen kingdom, but I know this at least; we travelled together a long time. We saw natural wonders, cut our way through ancient dreams, fought gods and monsters. I have been to the Abyss and seen the truth of your decisions. I have seen what remains of The White Palace, though they left me to explore it alone. We learned to fight together with perfect rhythm, for the alternative would have been to die in the twisting darkness outside the kingdom.”

The queen waited, patiently, for him to reach a point.

“I knew their burden,” Grimm finished. “They showed me their plans, and what was expected of them, and I promised to aid them as much as I was able, regardless of my predecessor, regardless of the Nightmare Heart. Then, when one of my troupe turned against me, suggested our cycle servitude, saying I had been born into chains, they asked me what I wanted; to continue on the path I’d been born into, or to be banished and free of it.” Grimm swallowed. His voice had grown raspy from use. He had not meant to yell. “They looked to me for they knew what it’s like not to be asked. I made my decision and I carry it proudly.”

“Are you confident what you perceived in it was not simply projection of yourself?” the queen asked, an infuriating vein of sympathy buried in her voice. He had not come here to be mothered. “My hollow children did not feel. They did not think nor desire, and they certainly did not love. Some were dutiful soldiers on a single path, and some were monsters more terrifying than even your ilk. It is not shameful to care for the thing you grew alongside, but now you must be wise enough to see the truth of it.”

“You’re wrong.”

Grimm remembered a tent at the edge of the world, huddled together as ash fell endlessly around them. He remembered sitting around a fire deep in the wastes, sharing company with another lost traveller. There had been a hand on his back, barely there, as he curled closer to the warmth of the flames. So many campsites, so many rests in that endless night; it had been them against the world. He remembered laughing as they bounced from mushroom to mushroom, tumbling downwards to land harmlessly among pink caps. Grimm had folded his wings to mimic his friend, chittering happily as he fell. He remembered finding one of their favourite hot springs occupied, and with a silent look communicating the magnitude of the splash fight they would unleash. The ghost who had been his constant companion did not speak, yet Grimm had come to understand them. Perhaps it was his power to see into the nightmares that dwelled behind a mask, or perhaps something else, but Grimm was confident he had known the truth of them.

However, he did not know how to explain this, so he said, “they must have thought for themselves. They did not take The Hollow Knight’s place, as you intended. They found the source of the infection and ripped it out by the root. That was their plan, their decision to end Hallownest’s perpetuation.”

The queen made a low sound. “Perhaps you are correct that there was something special about this vessel. I thought I saw it, the first time it came here, but I feared I saw what I wanted so desperately to see. It was different from the others, and I am eternally grateful for its sacrifice. Please understand, I did not wish to dismiss that.”

“Then why must it be a sacrifice? They do not need to lock the Light away. She is gone, consumed. Have they not earned some reward?”

“Ah, so that is what you would ask of me,” she said. “I’m afraid you may not like my answer, but the void has earned its rest.”

“That was not all they were. It was only a part. They were of void, yes, but they were also of wyrm… and root. Please. I do not ask you go to that place. I know the regret it brings you. I only ask your assistance in repairing what was broken. I will go find them myself.”

“Do not disturb the darkness,” the White Lady warned, “that was the mistake my wyrm made. At last, that great, dark sea is at rest, and I do not wish to change that. I could never stand to look at it. Even in the days before the fall, I refused to accompany my love to that place, for I did not trust myself. The void sea calls to us all. Do not think beings like you and I above its pull, little nightmare.”

“Your concern is touching but unasked for.” Grimm stood taller, adjusting his cloak and allowing the fire behind his eyes to flare. He was not a child anymore. He was the king of nightmares. Higher being or no, the White Lady would respect him. “I am willing to take the risk descending into the darkness poses. The Nightmare Heart will not be destroyed easily. And I did not come here to cause offence, but you do not know your spawn as I do. Raise yourself above your misery and entertain the possibility that something of your children remained after you threw them down into the void. What if I’m right? Even if there’s a sliver of a chance, I know you’d want one to have survived what was done to them, to grow, to live. Perhaps, given time, they will return here to forgive you.”

Particles of nightmare floated in the air, red pushing against the pale glow. It had been an accident, but suddenly Grimm could see so much; the nightmares that had collected in this place, trapped among the roots of their originator.

“I can see your fear,” said Grimm, his voice a deep rumble, like someone else’s, “but it’s not me you’re afraid of. Why trap yourself here? Do you think yourself a more dangerous monster than I?”

The deeper he peered, the more he saw. The nightmares were as thick as the void pooling outside the ruin of the White Palace. It was like being back in the Abyss, staring down into endless nothing. Children. Endless children. It was her nature to spread her seeds to the world, to create life regardless of what would become of it. Hollow eyes. Reaching hands like claws. Holding something to her chest, something warm with soul, a face behind its mask.

“Stop it.” She was not angry, her voice betraying no agitation, but there was a weight to it that had not been there before. “This is unnecessary.”

Grimm steadied himself. He had not meant to get so upset. “Apologies, Queen. I wish no disrespect.”

“I understand,” she said, and the sympathy was still there, as if he had not just bared his fangs and struck out at the most private parts of her mind. “Love can make us do things which are unwise. I know this better than most.” She leaned forward, her massive head reaching almost to his level. “Would you truly risk everything for that vessel?”

“Yes. I came here knowing what I must do.”

“Very well.” There was a beat of eye contact. Then, she straightened up, regal and composed as always. “I will do what you ask. As I said, I am the queen of nothing. Hallownest is already dead. Let the consequences of this be yours to bear.”

From his cloak, Grimm produced two halves of a broken mask. She hesitated to take them, like they might burn her, but when she did it was gently, like one might cradle a delicate flower.

When she returned it to him there was a coldness in her expression. Perhaps it was a mask to hide something else. Perhaps a flicker of hope.

“Go then,” she said. “The void will consume you, just as it did my children. I fear to think what would be birthed if it were to hollow you out. Though, I suspect your end will be more similar to the Light’s.”

Holding the empty mask to his chest, Grimm bowed. Then, he was gone, leaving a shower of sparks where he’d been.

~

The first time Grimm had been to the Abyss he hadn’t been expecting it. He’d been young, excitable, knowing nothing about the kingdom except that it was dead and smoldering.

They had already been travelling together for some time. They’d made it to the edge of the kingdom, after all, and fought the spider princesses with her lethal needle. Every time Grimmchild though he’d seen everything there was to see, Hallownest continued to expand. This was by far the deepest they’d ever come. The space was too vast to comprehend, stretching endlessly in all directions, and even further downwards. Void vapors rose from below, odorless and cold. He wasn’t afraid, Grimmchild told himself. He was fear. He did not feel it.

The Knight was a few platforms down from the entrance. They were stock-still, staring down into the blackness. Though his ability to pear into nightmares was still very weak, Grimmchild knew his friend well enough to feel their trepidation. He landed beside them, placing a wing gently across their shoulders. The Knight did not react. They did not tilt their head to acknowledge his presence or nudge Grimmchild affectionately like they often did.

Then, without warning, they stepped off the edge. They dove into this blackness without pause. Back then, Grimmchild had not known it was familiar to them.

~

Grimm flew down slowly, knowing what awaited him. He’d never had trouble seeing in the dark, but the blackness of the Abyss was something different. He took several landings on spike covered ledges, giving a moment for the ball of fire in his hand to illuminate a meager radius. The further down he got, the more difficult it became to find a space where his foot would not brush against the hollow masks of dead vessels.

The first time, teleporting frantically to keep up, he had not seen them until they’d reached the bottom, until the Knight was knee deep in them. It had been a moment of realization for Grimmchild. It was the first moment he’d realized there were some nightmares not of the Troupe’s creation.

The sea of shells was stiller than he remembered. No ghostly figures emerged to pursue him. The children of wyrm and root were at rest. For a moment, Grimm was overwhelmed with indecision, the White Lady’s warnings echoing loud in his mind. But he knew the Knight. Once, they’d collapsed in this place, looking just like another lost sibling. When they’d awoken, Grimmchild had asked why, clutching at their cloak like a desperate grub. So they’d leaned forward, pressing their head to his hand, and Grimmchild had peered into their deepest nightmare. The Knight had struggled upwards, digging through the bodies of their siblings. They’d refused to die here, refused to sleep. Up they’d climbed, as so many others plunged downwards. And when they’d been thrown back down and sealed away, they’d found a way out anyways. No, Grimm knew the Knight. Rest had never been their goal.

Grimm found an area of exposed stone. Brushing the last few masks away, he placed the one he carried in the centre. Its shape was familiar, strong and solid, not crumbling away like those surrounding it. Next, Grimm produced a torch, not unlike the ones carried by the Grimmkin. He drove it deep into the shells.

There was no light of any sort left in Hallownest: no dawn, no flame, not a single smoldering ember. It was truly the domain of the void. To reform its heir, Hallownest would need a little of its residual power returned. Grimm could spare it. After all, the ritual had already been completed. They’d had a bit left over. The torch flared to life, endlessly bright in this place. It was an offering at an ancient altar, a sacrifice of the Troupe’s strength. To find his friend, he needed to shine a light into the darkness. The darkness did not like this. At first, the void shied away from the piercing flame, then it reared up, desperate to extinguish the intrusion. Grimm gripped the torch, pouring his power into it. The flame burned on, even as it was surrounded by darkness. Tendrils of void lashed at him. Small, hungry hands reached out as eyes began to open in the blackness. Alone, they may have been silent, but together Hallownest’s regrets could scream.

Grimm burned hot, but the cold pushed in from all sides. He struggled to keep the flame burning as he was dragged down into the shells. It felt as if there was no other light in the world aside from what he’d brought. If a surface to the void did exist, it was far above him. He called out for his friend, reaching for anything familiar, first in his mind and then aloud.

“Please! I know you’re here. Come back. It’s not over. We will dance again. Come back to me.”

The rhythm of the Nightmare Heart grew louder, calling him back before it was too late. He focused on the familiar sound as he attempted to tune out the feeling of hundreds of hands tearing into him.

“Please.”

He stayed longer than he would have thought possible, gave more than he’d realized he had. He did not remember what it was like to burn. He knew only cold, only emptiness. It was when the heartbeat began to fade that he knew he would have to leave now or face the same fate as the Light. But the embrace of the void tendrils was a firm one. The womb-like safety of the Nightmare Heart seemed further away than it ever had before. The nightmare realm, always no more than a step away, was suddenly lost amongst the darkness. Nothingness almost consumed him.

Then, it let him go. He fell to his knees, shaking and clutching at the extinguished torch. The void drained slowly; the air still thick with it. In the last moment before he fled that place, Grimm saw the mask hanging in the air before him.

~

The Nightmare Heart beat on. It was warm and familiar, swaddling Grimm like a child. How long had he been asleep? His body was stiff. He’d spent so long in the realm of nightmares he couldn’t remember his location in the waking world.

He tore his way from his cocoon, stretching wings that felt larger than they’d been. There was movement in the stands that surrounded the heart, but Grimm ignored it, instead pushing himself to find his physical body. He woke surrounded by pillows and blankets, not hanging upside down as he found most comfortable. He’d used to sleep like this as a child, curled in on himself, but now it only added to the feeling of stiffness. He was in the tent. He knew that. The red fabric of the roof was unmistakable.

It came back to him piece by piece. Had it worked? His stupidity and hubris had almost extinguished him for good, but in the last moments the void had let him go. There was only one who could command it like that. Or had he simply seen what he’d wanted desperately to see, escaping under his own power?

He was alone in his quarters at the back of the big top, though not everything was as he’d left it. A few crates had been left beside his nest, like a bench. Around and on them a hodgepodge of items were scattered. They were just trinkets, useless pretty things. There was a lumafly lantern, some artifacts, and a generous amount of colourful foliage that had probably been torn off living things. A small space was left on the crates, just big enough for someone to sit. Grimm knew instantly who’d been here, all doubt pushed aside. He’d done it. The Knight was back, and they’d been here, waiting for him to wake up.

He tore out into the central space, propelled by excitement.

“Master!” chittered a small grimmkin, dropping what he’d been doing in surprise. It was a pile of colourful fabric, probably for Divine. “You’re awake at last. We have to tell the others.”

Grimm pushed down the childish glee and composed himself. He had an image to maintain, after all.

“How long was I resting?” he asked, landing in the center of the ring.

He was eager to leave, but the Troupe would have paid the price for his recklessness. They deserved an explanation. With a snap of his finger he lit the stage lights. They would come as quickly as they were able.

“What is time really, in a kingdom like this?” asked the grimmkin. “When things don’t change, it’s hard to tell.” It paused, awkwardly. “Some things have been changing. That dingy little town has more people. Less dead now. Less depressing.” It stuck out its tongue in disdain. “We moved the tents up into the cliffs while you were getting better.”

~

When Grimm finally left the tent, he found that the Troupe had nestled themselves in a nook high among the Hollowing Cliffs. Below, the lights of Dirtmouth sparkled. It was not a thriving metropolis by any stretch of the imagination, but there were more lights than the last time he’d stood overlooking it.

The grimmkin had told him the ghost came to visit on occasion. They’d left them alone after one of them met the business end of a nail. None of them had any idea when they’d be back, so Grimm had set out to find them. A little way off, someone sat on the ledge, overlooking the town. It wasn’t who Grimm was looking for, but she was the next best thing. Hornet got up as he landed beside her. The princess of Hallownest looked mostly the same as when he’d last seen her. Maybe a little taller, but he got the sense she was going to stay like this. He was a little taller than her now, though there was something in her presence that didn’t make him feel that way.

“Welcome back,” she said, spinning her needle absently. “I was starting to think you’d never wake up.”

Bravado welled up. His instinct was showmanship to conceal his weakness, but he knew she would see right through him. She knew too well what had happened to him.

“Yes, well, it takes time for even the Nightmare Heart to heal after something like that…” he paused, casting a look back at the huddle of red tents. Then, in a lowered voice, he admitted, “it almost consumed me. I saw the truth of nothingness. It is so much worse than evil or fear. It’s just cold… endlessly so.”

Hornet nodded sagely. “So, do you regret giving form back to its avatar?”

“No.” Grimm answered quickly. “Of course not. Do you really think that’s what they are?”

“It is.”

“Perhaps. But they’re also your half-sibling, and the heir to this kingdom. Have they not proven themselves to you enough?”

“Of course they have.” Her voice was hard and angry. Hornet was always pulled taught like the thread behind her needle. She was sharp and deadly, forged by her time alone in Hallownest’s ruin. “You weren’t there in the Black Egg. I was. I saw the sacrifice they made. It was me who picked their broken mask off the ground.”

“They refused to let me help,” said Grimm. “I would have.”

“How funny a thing,” said Hornet, sitting back down and patting the ledge beside her. “Your predecessor came to this kingdom to be reborn and live on, to survive. What went wrong? You would have faced the Light despite the slim chance of survival. It contradicts your purpose.”

Grimm sat. A heaviness still weighed on him. His fire was still catching, not yet burning as bright as it was supposed to.

“There would have been no ritual and no new life without them. They summoned us. They brought me to the flames, helped me prove myself. Of course I wished to return the favor.”

Hornet stayed silent this time, not acknowledging him past half a nod. Together, they watched small dots of movement flit from building to building. More of the abandoned houses had been claimed. Grimm also noticed that a pully system had been set up to carry travellers down form the kingdom’s main doors. Once, the Knight had taken him there, and mimed the fact that it had been them to break them down. Hallownest had been sealed for a long time, but no more.

They sat in silence far above, like gods overseeing their domain

“I come up here to watch them,” Hornet said, absently. “I think Hallownest is coming back to life, and I’m so happy, but there is no place for me down there. I am a relic from a lost age. For so long I drove out anyone who dared encroach. I wished to keep them from the Light, but now there’s no reason to do so. Hallownest no longer needs a protector.”

Grimm briefly considered offering words of comfort or encouragement but decided against it. Maybe she spoke the truth, and even if she didn’t it was not his job to help her. Instead, he got back to his feet.

“What does that mean for you?” she asked. “You grew large off the energy of a dead kingdom. What does it mean for you that it’s coming back alive? This is no longer the domain of the Troupe.”

“The ritual is complete. It doesn’t matter.”

Hornet did not look like she believed him, and to be fair, he had no precedent with which to judge. Kingdoms didn’t often rekindle.

“Are they down there?” Grimm asked. “I always felt they considered Dirtmouth to be home.”

“They visit often, but no, it’s not where they’ve taken up residence. Maybe Ghost feels the same way I do about all the newcomers. I can never tell with them, but they’re living in the one place outsiders can still get themselves killed.”

“Where?”

“Ghost is in Mantis Village,” she explained. “I’ll take you down, if you’d like.”

~

Heads mounted on spears greeted them as Grimm and Hornet reached the deepest recesses of the Fungal Wastes. Here, the mantises had survived for generations, even as Hallownest fell to ruin around them, unaffected by the kingdom’s stasis. It made sense, Grimm thought, for his friend to have come here. It was the only living civilization left in Hallownest. The mantises were strong enough to have resisted the Light, and their love for combat was shared by both him and Ghost.

Ignoring the warnings, Hornet lead on. They reached the village’s outer wall, expertly camouflaged among the mushrooms. A guard stood in the doorway, spear in hand. She bowed to Hornet, before turning her steely gaze on Grimm.

“You are welcome here, Princess, but what outsider do you bring into our midst?”

It was then that Grimm realized she was not as alone as she first appeared. Other mantises peered down from overhanging ledges, almost invisible in the pollen-thick air. They were ready to strike at a moment’s notice, willing and eager to fight even an honoured guest.

“You don’t recognize him?” Hornet asked. “He’s a lot bigger now, but just as much of a nuisance.”

Grimm grinned, barring his fangs. A ball of fire formed in his hand. He’d be happy to play, if that’s what they wanted. The Knight had stopped brining him here, after a while. He hadn’t had the best impulse control as a child, and it had been too difficult to resist bothering the territorial bugs. He still remembered the Knight grabbing him, shaking him disapprovingly as they stood over the scorched body of yet another mantis warrior.

The guard’s eyes widened. “Oh. So he’s here to see the little champion?”

Hornet nodded, shooting him a warning look. Grudgingly, Grimm extinguished the fire.

The mantis lowered her weapon. “Very well.”

She stood respectfully to the side as they entered.

The Mantis Village was an impressive construction of its own right. Its structures may not have glittered like those in the City of Tears, but they were sturdy and functional. Built into the walls of the central shaft, they descended deeper than one initially expected. Hornet jumped from ledge to ledge, sliding down the wooden walls as the mantises did. Grimm could feel himself being watched as he flew after her, many sets of eyes peered from behind shuttered windows.

She stopped after they’d descended less than a fourth of the way to the lords’ chambers. “That one.” She pointed across the pit to an open door. Some tattered, colourful fabric had been hung around it. “I’ll leave you to your reunion.”

Grimm looked at her quizzically.

“I’ll be around,” she said. “Where else would I go?”

Before Grimm could thank her, she was already gone, throwing her needle back to the top, and pulling herself after it.

Grimm wasn’t sure why he hesitated. This was his best friend. They’d saved each other from death countless times, travelled together for what could have been lifetimes, back when this kingdom had been untouched by time.

Grimm flew across the gap, landing silently beside the door. This was the slayer of The Radiance, and of his predecessor. This was the child of the Pale King, the living embodiment of the void… and here they were, hanging a string of tiny lumafly lights around their room with unparalleled gentleness. The small apartment was full of junk, but it wasn’t messy. Everything had been arranged lovingly: relics, and charms, and the shells of dead bugs stuffed with flowers. Before him, Grimm was faced with the strongest reminder yet that Hallownest’s stasis had ended, that things here could change once more. The little knight was no longer so little. Including their horns, they were a bit taller than Grimm. Their face had lengthened and slimmed, bearing an uncanny resemblance to the statue that loomed somberly over the City of Tears, and with memories of that statue came an ominous prickle of intuition that warned Grimm they weren’t done growing yet.

“It looks like we’ve both grown up,” he said, his voice coming out more gravelly than usual, reminiscent of the old Grimm.

The Knight spun, freezing, and the only thing Grimm got to determine their reaction were empty eyes staring at him. They’d always been difficult to read. Any slivers of nightmares Grimm had ever gotten had been given freely. Too fast to processes, they dashed across the room to him. They seemed to be examining him, circling him, peering almost frantically. Reaching out to touch his wing, they froze, looking up.

“It’s alright,” Grimm reassured, a little confused, but too relieved to care.

Gently, they lifted his wings, peering under them. Then, moving on to stare intently at his face, as if searching for some defect. Suddenly, Grimm understood.

“I’m alright,” he soothed. “It’s alright. It took some time to heal, but the Nightmare Heart is resilient.”

They took a step away, bowing their head slightly. The space around them appeared to darken, like it did when they were injured and seeping void.

“I’m not angry at you,” said Grimm, “and I’m not afraid. I knew what would happen, going to the Abyss. I knew it would be dangerous bringing you back. I made my decision.”

They looked up and made a frustrated motion.

Grimm couldn’t help but grin. “I’ve never been one for caution, you know that better than anyone.”

Suddenly, they hugged him. It took Grimm by surprise, but after a moment he relaxed into it. Relief washed over him as it began to sink in that he’d truly succeeded. Maybe there’d been a part of him that hadn’t believed he would. They were reunited, and everything was going to be okay.

“I’m glad you’re back,” Grimm whispered, as the Knight finally pulled away. “I like Hallownest… I was planning on staying here… as long as I am able.”

They nodded. They understood. They always understood him.

It was easy falling back into old habits, as easy as he’d hoped, maybe easier. The Vessel went back to hanging the lights and Grimm began to examine their collection. That stuffy bug—Lemm—would lose his mind if he knew what they were keeping from him. Grimm hadn’t been particularly verbal in his youth, and with the Vessel he found himself lapsing into his old ways. Instead of commenting on a relic he found interesting, instead he lifted it up, making a small noise to get their attention. The Vessel took the sphere from him. It was blue with the glow of lifeblood. They shook it, and Grimm saw tiny things moving inside, like it was alive. Grimm spent some time staring into it after that.

He was content, but something nagged at him, something that had been bothering him for some time. There was a question he’d never asked his friend, one that seemed silly after so long, yet entirely necessary.

“What’s your name?” Grimm asked.

The creature in question cocked their head in confusion.

“I know you were never given one,” Grimm explained. “When I think of you it always changes. I think you should have one. You deserve one.”

They went to sit next to him, examining him curiously.

“To be known by many names is a powerful thing. I have several myself,” Grimm said. “All I want is one that sounds right on my lips. There are many names by which you’re already known. Let’s start with those.”

They nodded.

“Some call you Vessel,” Grimm suggested, “your mother among them.”

They shook their head.

“How about Knight?”

This time, they cocked their head to the side, seemingly pensive.

“Ghost?” Grimm asked. “That’s Hornet’s name for you.”

There was a pause, but then they nodded. It was hesitant, but more of a reaction than he’d gotten for the others.

“It makes sense. What is this, your second time coming back from the dead?” Grimm grinned. “Is it because it’s what she calls you?”

Ghost shrugged, then nudged Grimm’s shoulder affectionately.

“I like it.” Grimm nudged back. “The Ghost of Hallownest… I think it fits.”

They sat there together for a moment longer, just looking at each other. And maybe it was just projection, but Grimm thought he saw his own relief reflected in their empty eyes.

Eventually, Ghost moved to tend some sort of statue—old and covered in moss—and Grimm reached to pick up the next object that caught his attention. It was small and golden, mostly round but coming to a point at the bottom. The second he touched it he was overcome with the feeling of power. It sang to him, resonating with his very being. It was like he could hear voices chanting, perfecting in harmony. For a moment everything was golden as he stared into it. Quickly, he put it down, yet it still called out to him, begging for his attention.

Grimm was a showman, but he craved no domain, no subjects. Whatever was in that thing wanted a god so desperately it was disconcerting. Maybe he would ask Ghost about it later, but that was a question for another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So of all the things I thought I'd end up writing fic for, Hollow Knight was definitely not what I expected. But I've been wayyy too obsessed with this game for like 4 months now and this fic has possessed me entirely.
> 
> I originally thought it was going to be a one-shot but there is far too much story to cram it into one chapter. I've got the whole thing planned though, and it's more than half done at the time of posting this.
> 
> Hollow Knight is such a fun world to play in because of the ambiguity around the lore and all the cool threads Team Cherry has left for us to interpret. I've been having fun writing it, and I hope you guys like it too!


	2. Old Gods, New Gods

His time with Ghost was certainly not boring. Beneath it all, Grimm was a simple creature. He liked to dance, and to fight, and Ghost provided in both regards. They were both creatures of dreams now. Grimm grew into his dominion over the nightmare realm, and Ghost wielded the Dreamnail with a mastery they’d previously lacked. It was a trivial thing for them to meet in a place inside their minds, a place where there were no consequences. How lucky a thing, for a being as powerful as Grimm to have found someone to keep up with him. When his childish games had left ordinary bugs scorched and dying, who was he to play with? Only something as powerful as he was.

They danced through dreams; Ghost always quick to learn the complex steps. The line between a waltz and a fight was a thin one, as he’d well learned, watching the demise of his predecessor. Though there was nothing so deadly in their games. Grimm loved a challenge, loved pushing the boundaries of what he was capable of, especially in nightmares, where he could so easily shape the world to his will. Still, he lost more times than not. Afterall, Ghost had killed the last Grimm, and he wasn’t that powerful yet. With time he would surely surpass him, becoming more than the last Nightmare King had ever been, especially with such a good dance partner to teach him the steps.

Death had not robbed Ghost of their skill. They were as good as Grimm remembered, maybe better. Their pure nail was no longer the proportionally large weapon it had once been. In Ghost’s grown hand, it was something more nimble and precise, but just as deadly. Though, they did appear to have found some way of lengthening it, perhaps provided by their time living with the Mantis Tribe. Grimm preferred the nail to Ghost’s magics. It made for a better dance, he told himself. Or was it that their spells reminded him of the void. He did not like the abyssal shriek that echoed from Ghost’s more powerful spells. It made him feel cold, made him search desperately for the familiar sound of the Nightmare Heart. Every so often, Grimm would awake up from a loss with a jolt, paralyzed by a fear he found deeply shameful. How silly for the god of fear to be afraid. He hid these things from Ghost, partly from embarrassment, and partly because he knew they were likely to blame themselves.

~

The waking world also held no shortage of adventure. Ghost always had some sort of mission or goal, and Grimm tagged along happily, as he always had.

They brought the weathered statue Ghost had been repairing to the shore of the Lake of Unn. Small things fled into the bushes as they passed. The old temple had fallen into disarray, and despite holding no care for the Mosskin, Grimm found himself aiding Ghost in their tidying of the place. He flew onto the roof, patching up a hole, and removing some of the wilder vegetation. Watching the bubbling, green water from up there, a sense of peace settled over Grimm. It was easy to become fond of an old god like Unn. When her children had forgotten her, she’d seemingly accepted her fate, waiting endlessly for them to answer her call once more. Ghost knew better than most what happened when an old god did not accept being forgotten. He understood why Ghost was here, saying thank you to a forgotten thing that had chosen sadness over vengeance, though Unn was now far too weak to be any sort of threat.

He kept it to himself, but Grimm realized he had more respect for The Radiance. When faced with the threat of fading from existence, she had refused to take it lying down. He’d never met the Pale King, but he couldn’t help but wonder what it was about Ghost’s father that had drawn both the Moth Tribe and Mosskin from their creators so easily. What could have defeated such a god? Grimm already knew, of course. Void pooled among the ruins of the White Palace, claiming innocence through its stillness.

Though he did not always understand, Ghost’s quests gave Grimm an excuse to travel Hallownest again. It was just like old times. Despite it being little-more than a corpse, many powerful things still lay dormant in Hallownest. In the noxious, spore-filled caverns of the fungal core, they visited the slumbering parent of all fungus in the kingdom. The colossal mushroom appeared to be sleeping, but Ghost knelt before it, pulling from their cloak the rotting corpses of slain bugs. Grimm had wondered why they were keeping them. The meat had only been exposed to the murky air moments ago and it had already begun to decay. Leaving it on their makeshift altar, Ghost reached into the mushroom’s mind with the Dreamnail. It must have had much to say, for they stayed there for some time. Grimm had no way of participating in the conversation. Whatever this was—god or something else—it had no nightmares. It was out of his reach.

Grimm and Ghost visited Dirtmouth regularly. Newcomers scurried away in fear as they passed. Even the adventurer types clutched at their weapons or stepped into the shadows. It would have been easier if this was a result of Grimm. It was his purpose to appear terrifying, after all. But little changed when Ghost walked through town alone, Grimm waiting in the cliffs. It was hard to deny, the growing vessel had a presence that commanded attention. Their regal posture drew eyes, but the emptiness behind their mask caused ordinary bugs to freeze where they stood. Ghost was a contradiction, and Grimm could tell it bothered them. At least Dirtmouth’s older residents, who remembered them both from when they were small, were always kind and excited to see them. Elderbug did his best to introduce Ghost to the town’s newcomers, explaining that it had been them to open the stag-station and the elevator. And at least Zote, for all his incessant babbling, was not afraid. He wasn’t capable of it, Grimm had checked.

And of course, when they were above ground, they always visited the Troupe. It was the perfect stage for Grimm to show off the dances they’d been practicing. The Grimmkin loved to watch them fight—or waltz, depending on the mood—they cheered and clapped, and it made Grimm feel powerful. The longer Grimm and Ghost travelled together, played together in their dreams, the faster their steps got, the flashier their attacks became. They moved together as one, like they could read each other’s minds. It was a show unlike any the Grimm Troupe had ever put on, and that was saying something.

It was Ghost to remind him there was more audience in Hallownest than just his kin. With a series of gestures, they managed to convey the suggestion that Grimm move the tents down to their original position outside Dirtmouth. Grimm had intended to, of course, he’d just been so caught up in being back in Hallownest it had slipped his mind.

Yes, the new bugs of Hallownest feared him as he walked the streets, but that did not mean they weren’t drawn to the warm, red glow of the tents. It promised mystery and excitement, the same things that had brought many of them to Hallownest in the first place. Warriors who believed themselves too mighty to be afraid, adventurers whose curiosity overrode their common sense, they all flocked to watch the dance. Then, in their dreams that night, they were in the big top again, like the reflection of fire in a wide eye. Grimm could feel them all watching him; when they peered fearfully into a darkened corner, or when they searched for the source of a noise in the night. And as a showman, all he’d ever wanted was an audience.

The lanterns of the Troupe burned brightly once again. Yet, in the back of his mind, Grimm could not shake the feeling that it wouldn’t be the same without Ghost. It couldn’t be. How had he ever been expected to do this alone? How could he leave Hallownest without them?

~

Their legend spread across what was left of Hallownest, not confined simply to Dirtmouth. On occasion, Ghost took him to visit the colosseum at the edge of the kingdom. Many of this place’s combatants had died with the infection, but many more had flocked in to replace them. Like a magnet, dreams of glory lead hoards of fools to their death, endless blood to be spilled in the Lord Fool’s temple. At least now the combat was not so monotonous. The Radiance’s hivemind had not been good for variety. Though the more primitive bugs were in short supply, fights between trained warriors were more interesting anyways.

Once, Ghost and Grimmchild had been no more than another pair of fools, bound to have their corpses dropped off the kingdom’s edge, but now their fame preceded them. Instead of being offered the ordinary battle-royal endurance trial, where the last bug standing had to face off against the next wave of hopefuls, they were something of a main event. They would stand back to back, in the center of the chaos, and all brave enough to challenge them could attack at once. It was more like it had been before the end of the Light, when the infected bugs had been naturally drawn to attack those of clear mind. Just as it had been then, so it was now: Ghost and Grimm against the world.

There was little challenge in it; not anymore. With a wave of his arm, Grimm could summon a wall of flame, boiling bugs alive in their shells, while hovering far out of the reach of spikes or nails. When in motion, Ghost was little more than a blur of void. The warriors couldn’t see them coming until their nail was already through their chest. It may not have been a challenge, but the colosseum provided some variety. If nothing else, it was a different game, one where Grimm and Ghost got to play on the same team. There were so few of those left that provided any degree of fun.

It was over once there were no more bugs foolish enough to step into the arena. They’d been coming here a bit too frequently lately, and there had been fewer challengers willing to face them than if they’d let their legend simmer a while.

Ghost cut the last warrior in half with a single swing of their nail. Her green-tinted blood flew through the air in a wide arc, splattering across the feet of the massive husk that presided over the carnage. Ghost bowed to the Lord Fool, kneeling with their nail across their knee. The dead bug was as still as ever, slumped haphazardly against the arm of his throne. His corps was far more massive than any of those lying in the dirt around them, though he was little more than a hollow shell, black stains long dried under empty eye sockets. He did not clap for their victory, but around him the crowd went wild.

Ghost may have had their own inscrutable reasons for returning to the colosseum, but Grimm had his as well. Stepping up onto a pile of bloody shells, he bowed low. As geo and gifts rained down around him, he snatched a rose from the air, holding it to his chest.

“Thank you! Thank you!” his voice carried easily over the din. “It’s always a pleasure to perform for so charming an audience. But if I haunt your dreams, and you find yourself wanting more, you may find me again with the Grimm Troupe outside of Dirtmouth. My dear friend and I perform there regularly.”

He was basking in their adoration, staring out into the crowd, when his eyes caught on a single figure. She leaned back in her seat, clapping slowly without any of the excitement of those around her. Hornet met his gaze. Then, she got to her feet and began to wind her way towards the exit. Tucking the flower into his lapel and gathering up a few handfuls of geo, Grimm motioned for Ghost to follow him.

They found her below in the warriors’ pit, against a wall near the hot spring. She leaned on her needle with exaggerated casualness.

“Enjoy the show?” Grimm asked.

“Not particularly. There’s no tension. Where’s the fun in being gods slaughtering maggots?”

Ghost looked nervously towards a passing group of warriors.

“Don’t let them hear you say that,” said Grimm, “or they might throw you into the arena.”

“It’s true. I feel no sympathy for fools and weaklings, it’s you two I wonder about.” Hornet sighed. “What was the point of that?”

Grimm shrugged. “Fun? Reputation?”

She wasn’t even looking at him. Instead, she stared at Ghost. “I think Lord Fool’s altar can find enough blood on its own.”

Bowing their head, Ghost sheathed their nail, exaggerating every action.

“Not one for blood sports?” Grimm asked.

“Don’t mistake me for a pacifist. If I was threatened, I would happily tear everyone in this place limb from limb. But this kingdom has seen enough blood gods.”

Ghost touched her arm. There was a solemnness in the action, an understanding.

“It was getting boring anyways,” Grimm muttered, “I wish the colosseum would get some real challenger. It’s tragic. There’s not a true performer among them.”

Hornet clasped him on the shoulder as she passed, heading for the exit.

“Always a pleasure,” Grimm called after her. “I hope to see you again soon.”

This was nowhere near the first time Grimm had seen Hornet since the day he’d awakened. She haunted Hallownest, almost as ghost-like as her half-sibling. The first time they’d visited the Distant Village, they’d nearly come to blows.

Ghost had brought some things to leave at Hera’s altar.

“An apology,” Hornet had called it, nearly spitting venom.

Peripheral, Grimm had been aware that Ghost had killed her mother, but he hadn’t understood the raw truth of it until that moment.

“You’re not needed here,” she’d said, speaking directly to Ghost and blatantly ignoring any words Grimm tried to get in edgewise. “You’re not wanted. Deepnest has always held its independence from Hallownest, and that won’t change now. Especially not for you two. It needs time to heal.”

But for someone who could not speak, Ghost could be incredibly convincing. Maybe it was the weaverlings that danced around their ankles, or the spool of weaver’s silk they offered her. Or maybe a silent conversation had transpired between the two siblings to which Grimm was not privy.

“Fine,” she’d eventually conceded, “you’re free to visit as long as you understand this is not your domain. I certainly couldn’t stop patrolling Hallownest, and it would be unfair of me to expect you to obey imaginary lines from before your birth. Just keep your nightmare in check. This is a place of mourning.”

There had been a pause then, pregnant and heavy, as Grimm debated whether or not he should defend himself.

“I like what you’ve done with the Black Egg,” she’d whispered, like she was admitting some sin.

~

Of all the places in Hallownest Ghost would regularly visit, there was only one that Grimm did not like. The Black Egg Temple lay directly below Dirtmouth. According to Elderbug, bugs had always been drawn to it to pray and leave offerings, despite not knowing what it meant. Grimm was unsure whether they’d been pulled there by the Vessel or by the captive Light inside.

But it didn’t matter what it meant to the citizens of Dirtmouth, to Grimm it was a battleground and an unpleasant reminder. He couldn’t look at it without remembering that this was where Ghost had died, where he’d almost lost them forever. It also didn’t help that the egg had been built to support a void being. It leaked out of the broken door, making the whole temple feel cold. It hosted the same lack of smell as the Abyss, and Grimm couldn’t stay there long without the heartbeat speeding up.

Whereas, before, the temple’s purpose had been obfuscated—had it been a place to worship the Dreamers, whose masks had been the only iconography visible, the egg itself, the king—now its idol was clear. Ghost had made sure of that. Before Grimm had even awoken, they’d brought a statue to sit on the central pedestal, in front of the gaping, black door. It was a smaller version of the massive statue from the City of Tears. The Hollow Knight stood serenely, nail clutched to their chest, guarding the entrance to the egg that had once been their prison. Grimm couldn’t look at their elegant features without thinking about how Ghost looked more and more like them every day. Where they’d gotten the statue was slightly mysterious. It leaked a trickle of soul, and there was something about it that suggested to Grimm it had been plucked for a dream.

Along with tidying up the debris, Ghost also hung strings of lumafly lights around the interior. Candles burned at the statue’s base, and Ghost brought cushions and blankets as if to encourage bugs to stay awhile, basking in the calm, protected feeling that everyone but Grimm seemed to experience. Though Ghost returned regularly to bring more candles, it was quickly not necessary. The citizens of Dirtmouth left offerings constantly, and there was always something already burning when they visited.

Between the first time Grimm had visited and the second—they’d still been removing the debris back then—someone had sealed off the entrance to the egg. It was for the best. Ordinary bugs could not survive in there, and at least now the void leaked out less aggressively. The seal was a complex one, spun from spider silk. Though this was not Grimm’s brand of magic, he recognized the power in it. The Seal of Binding kept the contents of the egg in while simultaneously preserving the legacy and memory of the Vessel. It was impressive work, though Grimm felt it would be inappropriate to mention this to Hornet, who was almost certainly its source. The Hollow Knight was a sore spot for her.

Grimm waited outside while Ghost paid their respects. Ghost liked to spend a fair amount of time inside every time they visited. It always set Grimm on edge. He was torn between not wanting to enter and checking on Ghost to make sure nothing had happened to them. He paced restlessly, frying a ticktick unlucky enough to scuttle by in the open.

Hornet swung down from some invisible perch, landing silently beside him.

“Come here often?” Grimm asked her, sarcastically.

“Yes.” She gave him a strange look. “There are unpleasant memories here, for me as well, but I come here for the Vessel. As much as I hated my brief time in there, it was nothing compared to the eternity they were locked away.”

How easy it would have been, had things gone slightly different, for Ghost to have been the one trapped there forever; suffering in darkness with only their own thoughts and the Light to keep them company. Grimm would never have met them. It was an unthinkable, physically painful thing to consider.

Hornet did not enter the temple. Whether she’d picked up on his distress or if something else kept her from joining Ghost was unclear, but she kept him company. They waited in the cool shadows of the Forgotten Crossroads, watching other pilgrims pass them by on their way to the temple. None noticed them.

After a significant period of amiable silence, Hornet spoke. “I knew them, you know, The Hollow Knight. We both trained in the White Palace around the same time.”

Grimm turned to listen to her but did not speak. He’d learned from Ghost that words weren’t always necessary.

“We were both so small then,” she continued, “like Ghost when you first met them. I struggle to say we were friends, but they were the closest thing I had at the time. They couldn’t speak, of course, but I could tell how hard they were trying. They wanted so desperately to be the perfect vessel, I think that desire was what lead to their failure, in the end.”

Not knowing what to say, Grimm wrapped one of his wings around her. She did not pull away, as he’d been sure she would, instead leaning into his warmth.

“I’m glad one of them survived,” she finally said, barely audible. “I still fear there may be repercussions for what you did… but I’m glad you did it.”

“I couldn’t have let them go,” Grimm admitted.

Finally, Hornet drew away, walking slowly towards the temple’s entrance. “You sure you don’t want to come?”

Grimm shook his head.

“I thought not.” She paused in the frame. “Be careful, Grimm. Everything seems to be well, but sometimes it’s like I can see something dark looming in my periphery. Maybe I’ve inherited the Wyrm’s foresight, or maybe it’s just years of solitude catching up with me. But just… be careful.”

He did not follow her inside, but walked to the door, peering in.

Ghost knelt before the statue, something gold and glowing clutched in their hands. Grimm could hear it singing, even from here, resonating with the power of the temple. It was beautiful, but it made him nervous. Whatever power that totem contained; it was entirely foreign to him.

~

It was a beautiful day, like so many before it. Grimm and Ghost had wandered their way to the edge of the Queen’s Gardens, going nowhere in particular. The mantis traitors, along with the rest of the gardens’ inhabitants, had died with the infection, and nothing else had yet moved in to replace them. Maybe it was that, while superficially beautiful, it was an inhospitable place, all snarled thorns and unstable platforms.

In Fog Canyon, Ghost had raced ahead without warning, stopping to wait for him between the garden gates. Grimm knew this game. Laughing, he gave chase, teleporting past Ghost.

“First one to the stag station!”

His response was a blur of void, as Ghost took off after him.

They may have been fast, but Grimm had the advantage, being able to fly. Ghost had to jump from wall to wall, scampering across unstable platforms and fluttering across thorny canyons with their temporary set of spectral wings. Or at least that was how it seemed at first. The Queen’s Gardens were a difficult obstacle course for a flying bug as well. Massive vines reached from floor to ceiling, and the Queen’s architecture favoured fences and gates; slim chokepoints to aim for. To make things worse, Grimm wasn’t as small as he used to be. Some gaps which he could have once flown through easily were now impassible. His teleportation wasn’t much help either. The further he wanted to go, the longer it took to focus the magic. There was no gain from using it, aside for passing a particularly thick knot of vines.

On the other side, he saw Ghost clinging to the wall of a gazebo. They cocked their head at him, power swirling around their feet. Knowing he was in trouble, Grimm took off flying. They were in the home stretch; he still had a chance. The problem was, it wasn’t entirely true that Ghost couldn’t fly. Though, what they did wasn’t so much flying as launching themselves uncontrolled through the air using the stored energy from the heart of an ancient mining robot. Pink crystals sprayed in all directions as Ghost went shooting off, blowing past Grimm in an instant. They were bound to go face-first into a wall of thorns, and Grimm intended to be there to laugh at them.

This cavern was a straight shot. It had a high ceiling and limited obstacles, seeming to have once housed a bridge that had long ago collapsed into the thorns below. About halfway through it, Ghost dissipated their momentum with a flip, landing daintily on a surviving bridge pillar. They held out a hand to him, their pose unmistakable. Laughing, Grimm teleported to meet them. No sooner had they grasped hands than Ghost dipped him like they were mid waltz. Grimm leaned into it, pointing a leg upwards.

“So, a truce then?” he asked, placing his other arm around Ghost’s waist and floating up into the air.

They hovered in slow circles in the general direction of their destination. Though it was only the idea of a dance, for Ghost could not support their own weight. He waited until his partner had entirely relaxed into the embrace before teleporting away, leaving them to plunge towards the thorns.

“You’re charming, but don’t think you’re getting out of a loss that easily!” Grimm cackled, as if he hadn’t just been losing.

He took off flying at full speed as Ghost’s spectral wings unfurled, saving them inches from the thorns. They dashed to a nearby platform, but it was too late. Grimm had all the lead he needed.

Grimm made it through the stag station doors seconds before Ghost caught up with him. He slid onto the bench and leaned back like he’d been waiting, which was entirely pointless because Ghost had watched him do it. The vessel crossed their arms, giving him a powerful stink eye from across the room.

“You know what they say,” Grimm teased, “all’s fair in love and war.”

Ghost relaxed their posture, and Grimm could have sworn he heard a sigh that hadn’t been there. Then, they gestured for him to follow them, pointing back towards the door.

“So, you have a destination in mind,” Grimm said. It wasn’t a question, just a statement of fact.

Ghost nodded all the same, leading the way up a trellis that extended above the station. A good ways up the tall chute of a cavern, they reached a small tunnel into the impenetrable wall of thorns. There were small pieces of rock to stand on—perhaps this had once been a path—but Ghost had to crouch to fit through, jumping from outcropping to outcropping.

“Where are we going?” Grimm complained, as his wing rubbed uncomfortably against the thorny walls.

The words were barely out of his mouth when the thorns opened up, revealing a clearing that Grimm realized he recognized.

“Oh. This is the mantis girl’s grave. I remember now.”

He stretched his wings, taking it all in. This place had been transformed since the last time he’d been here. It was a bubble of beauty and serenity in the heart of this chaotic knot of angry vegetation. The clearing was coated in white light. It emanated from the flowers that filled the space. They were otherworldly, spectral things, humming with a power which was not of Hallownest, nor anywhere else Grimm had ever heard of. They carpeted the floor so thickly the ordinary underbrush couldn’t be seen, winding their way up the vines and covering the gravestone in the center. Pale pollen hung thick in the air, glittering slightly.

Grimm was unsure if the mourning knight who’d given Ghost the first flower was a higher being, but this was certainly the power of one. It was unfamiliar. Though it was pale, Grimm knew intuitively that its source was not the king and queen.

As Ghost crossed to the grave, Grimm let himself fall, landing among the petals. Whatever this was, it was overwhelming, all-encompassing, but it did not scare him the way the void did. The flowers did not break under him. Rooted here, they were far from delicate. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he noticed Ghost standing over him. It probably hadn’t been very long, but it felt like an eternity. They offered him a hand which Grimm accepted. A thin layer of glittering dust covered their horns, and as they helped him to his feet Grimm realized he must look much the same.

From behind their back, Ghost produced a flower. It was the same as the others, yet somehow unique; more beautiful, more delicate. They held it out to him, frozen in half a bow. Grimm was so overwhelmed he could barely take it.

“Thank you,” he finally managed, his voice a raspy croak, “it’s beautiful.”

He understood then that the power of these flowers was in their giving. It was his now, willing offered, and as long as that did not change it would neither crumple nor wilt. He clutched it to his chest where his heart would have been, had it not been in the nightmare realm, and felt it wind its way into his shell, taking root. It tingled but it did not hurt, finding a home there; a single pale spot among the red and black. Even as he let his wings fall closed around it, he could still feel it; a piece of foreign magic, a constant reminder of the one who’d given it to him.

Grimm was so stunned Ghost had to guide him gently towards the exit, picking another flower as they went. He wasn’t sure what had come over him. Maybe it was the power of this place, or maybe he’d just been so afraid for so long that any affection he saw in Ghost was just a projection. As hard as he’d tried to prevent it, the White Lady’s words had wormed their way into his mind, whispering warnings of emptiness.

Pausing at the tunnel, Ghost looked pensively at the thorns. The flower they carried was still very fragile, primed to crumble to nothing at the first wrong move. Without thinking, Grimm grabbed them, wrapping his wing around them and pulling them through the nightmare realm. They emerged on the other side, standing among the hanging gardens. He’d never teleported with anyone before, but it had seemed so natural he hadn’t given it a thought. Ghost nudged him affectionately with their face, as if to say thank you.

“Is that for the queen?” Grimm asked, following Ghost’s gaze. They stared upwards towards where Grimm knew their mother resided.

They nodded.

“Let’s try to get it to her in one piece, then,” Grimm said, slowly regaining his composure.

He had not seen the White Lady since she’d repaired Ghost’s mask, and he planned on being at least a little bit smug.

Perhaps it was a testament to how much he’d grown, how much tighter the roots seemed leading to the White Lady’s refuge. Or perhaps she’d pulled further within herself, wallowing alone in her fear and regret. Though they were now solidly taller than Grimm, strangely, Ghost had little trouble finding their way to the center. She waited for them there, as stationary as every within her bindings.

“So, it returns at last,” she said, “I had begun to believe it never would.” Milky eyes sparkled for a moment. “You’ve both grown. Hallownest has not seen higher beings of your like in some time.”

Grimm watched quietly from the shadows, not wishing to interrupt, as Ghost produced the delicate flower. They offered it to her, much the same way Grimm had done with the nightmare rose.

“Ah, what a precious gift it offers, though alas I shan’t accept. That flower is not of me, nor of this kingdom. Far it travelled to reach this place, brought by a beloved, fair knight of lands serene. There is rare power hidden in those frail petals,” she warned. “To hold it so close one must be unaware of its nature… so opposed to one’s own.”

Anger burned in Grimm, threatening to overflow, but the cool sensation of the flower in his chest calmed him. Ghost had chosen to come here and give solace to this pathetic creature, so he would not interfere. They let the flower drop from their hand, the petals crumpling as it hit the floor. It was now a ruined, powerless thing, extinguished so easily.

“Here you both are always welcome,” she said, like an apology. “Even as I wither, such visitors I shall not refuse. This is no longer my kingdom, though I am rooted here still.”

Ghost reached out, placing their hand against her bindings.

“Though my senses grow dim, I can sense the ripples ones such as you create. I feel Hallownest be reborn in a form near unrecognizable. How odd the circuity of time, that two higher beings brought about Hallownest’s creation, and two more oversee its change. How strange a thing, I doubt even my wyrm could have foreseen.”

Grimm stepped out of the shadows, flashing her his most malicious smile.

“I find myself thankful to you, Nightmare King,” she addressed him, “for your determination, though of recklessness nature, has brought this about.”

“Like I once told you, I care deeply for Hallownest… and for Ghost. You were wise not to trust me, but for this my intentions have never been anything but genuine.”

She nodded at him, as a branch reached out, softly curling around Ghost’s mask and turning it to the side. Ghost let themselves be moved, staring up at her with empty eyes which still somehow said so much.

“Your resemblance to the chosen vessel is quite striking. What does it say of us, that one has grown to surpass it without interference? How foolish for my love to overlook you in favour of one so inferior.”

Ghost drew away, as Grimm had known they would. They raised an arm as their only farewell.

“How kind of it to visit,” said the White Lady, “when there are so many reasons for it to despise those who created it. Perhaps it was misjudged.”

“A pleasure,” Grimm bowed low, “I’d say I’ll see you again soon, but I’m not sure either way.” He began to follow Ghost. “But just in case the information serves you, I wouldn’t speak of The Hollow Knight in such a way around them.”

The White Lady hummed a low note. It hung in the air, following them out through the tangle of roots.

~

They sat together at the edge of Fog Canyon, staring down into the misty, pink depths. Grimm ran his fingers over the flower where it sat safely, intertwined with his chest.

“I think she’s a coward,” Grimm said, “but I couldn’t have brought you back without her. She resisted at first, but in the end she agreed. I want to hate her, but because of that, I can’t.”

Ghost nodded.

So, he’d gotten it right. What a confusing way to feel about one’s mother. Grimm was grateful he didn’t have one. Even with his father, it wasn’t quite the same. The old Grimm was his predecessor, certainly, but he was more like a past life than a parent. Maybe the Nightmare Heart fit the description better, but to say he swore allegiance to it would be as silly as claiming loyalty to one of your own organs. Yet its desire to survive would eventually drag him from here, when he wished never to leave.

Grimm didn’t want to die. He would take a continuation of life in whatever way it came. He did not fear the cycle nor the ritual. What Grimm dreaded was an end to this, to him and Ghost. It was so far away, yet in the infinity of time it was so terrifyingly close. He never wanted to have to dance with someone else.

“I was just thinking about immortality,” he said, “about how much more static yours is than mine. Whatever you are, Ghost, you’re eternal. No one believed in you, no one remembered you, yet you refused to fade away.”

Ghost looked at him, then pointed a finger, poking him gently in the chest.

“Oh… I suppose you’re right. I did make an offering of sorts to bring you back. But you were refusing to fade long before I met you. And I think… if I were to go…” he trailed off.

Their hand lowered slowly, grasping at the leaves on the ground as they waited for him to continue.

“I am immortal as well, in a way. My heart will beat on, as long as the ritual continues. I will burn away to ashes then rise from them again. Not soon, but one day the Troupe will have to leave in search of another dying kingdom. I dread it. I don’t wish to find another dance partner.”

Grimm faltered, unsure where this was coming from, or why he’d chosen now to ask for something like this.

“Would you come with me? We could continue our dance across the world, across eternity. You’re not constrained by the same rules as the rest of the Troupe. You can go where you please and light our fires anywhere.”

If Ghost accepted there would be no more uncertainty in the Troupe’s perpetuation. No worry as to who would begin the ritual, or if anyone would at all. They were more powerful together. They’d never have to be apart.

The Nightmare Heart beat loud in his ears. Never had he wished more that Ghost had some way of communicating. They stared at him, but no answer came. It couldn’t. All he could do was try to pull some meaning from the tilt of their head, or the way they placed their hand on his arm. Grimm stared into the void behind their eyes and saw answers there. But were they anything more than reflections of his own fears and desires?

_“Of course I’ll come with you. I’ll never leave you. We will dance forever and see every corner of this world.”_

_“I’m sorry, but my duty is to Hallownest first. You are always welcome in my kingdom, but I will not leave it.”_

_“How can you ask this of me? I’ve seen the truth behind your ritual, I know what I’d have to do.”_

Why had he done this? Having the question hang in the air, unanswered, was worse than never having asked it. Desperately, he reached out for a strand of nightmare, any fearful thought to give a hint to Ghost’s true feelings.

There was nothing there. Grimm saw only darkness; endless, cold void. Perhaps he could have stayed longer or peered deeper. The nothingness before him seemed to tighten into an anxious knot, and he couldn’t stay there a moment longer. Opening his eyes and releasing his grip on Ghost’s arm, Grimm got to his feet.

“I suppose I shouldn’t have expected an answer. Regardless, there is time yet before we must think about such things.”

Essence flared in Grimm’s periphery as he felt the Dreamnail cut across his back. How unfair, that Ghost could read his mind, yet refused to share their own. Whatever they’d seen, Ghost wrapped an arm around him then raised the Dreamnail again, cutting a hole through reality. They pulled him through, and they were home again, in Ghost’s apartment in Mantis Village. Grimm did not get his answer, but at least he had this. The future could be ignored for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything in this fic ends up being longer than I expected lol! The scenes don't change but boy am I bad at estimating how many words they'll take. I don't think it'll be more than 5 or 6 chapters though.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who read and left nice comments! I was a little worried at first, but I've gotten so many good comments they easily outweigh the bad. This fandom has really good engagement especially for how small it is. Ya'll are the bomb!


	3. Light Above

There was a determination in Ghost’s steps today, a focused purpose that had drawn them up above ground. Though they didn’t go to Dirtmouth. Instead, Ghost lead him through the cemetery, into the looming shadow of Crystal Peak.

“Where are we going?” Grimm asked. “No time to visit the Troupe, it seems.”

Ghost pointed upwards, to where the mountain disappeared into the clouds, then continued marching on without looking back to see if he was following.

As they road up the rickety elevator Grimm asked, “are you in the mood for a climb? No, I sense today the destination is more important.” He had to raise his voice to be heard over the grinding of the chains. “How about we take a shortcut then? Let me fly us up.”

The elevator clicked into place at the mine entrance. Ghost looked up, then down at themselves, moving their limbs awkwardly as if even they weren’t used to their size.

“If we’re fast, I think I can manage. You may be big, but you aren’t all that heavy. It’s like there’s nothing there.” He winked. “Just hold on tight, and with a few teleports thrown in, we’ll be there in no time.”

Tentatively, Ghost slung an arm around his shoulders. Grimm needed his arms to fly, but he was sure Ghost could manage to hold on. With a powerful beat of his wings they were in the air, hurtling upwards as fast as Grimm could manage. Ghost held tightly to his shoulders; a leg wrapped around his abdomen. When his wings began to tire, he’d teleport a short distance, making sure to pull Ghost with him. As much as the interior of Crystal Peak was a wonder to behold, the outside was bland. Infrequently did pink crystals push their way through the grey stone. The mountain was significantly higher than the Hollowing Cliffs, but Ghost wasn’t the only one who’d gotten stronger.

It didn’t take long before they cleared Hallownest’s Crown, looking down on the ancient sigils that decorated the plateau. The tilted tablets spread across the mountaintop like the petals of a flower, glowing as if they reflected a sun that was not there. Grimm didn’t think he’d ever seen everything but overcast skies over Dirtmouth. At a glance they resembled the Seal of Binding Hornet had placed over the black egg, but while their style was similar the curves and lines fit together into different patterns. Whatever purpose these served, he did not know it.

Grimm was just beginning to swoop down when Ghost let go of him. They dove towards the ground at tremendous speed, void whipping around them. They collided with an explosive crash, sending chunks of stone flying. Two of the larger runes were entirely destroyed. Seemingly not satisfied, Ghost kicked one of the chunks down the slope. It rolled away, gradually picked up speed, as Ghost unleashed a flying nail-art at the next one. It shattered on contact. Not wishing to interfere, Grimm landed nearby. This was so different from their ordinary missions he was off balance. When Ghost was finished, none of the glowing glyphs remained. What had once been a hauntingly beautiful place was now scattered rubble.

“What sort of offering is this?” Grimm asked, and Ghost glared at him like he’d said something unforgivable.

If Ghost had visited Hallownest’s Crown during their travels Grimm hadn’t been there. Maybe it had been before they’d met, or during one of his visits with the Troupe. So, as Ghost walked towards the cliff edge that overlooked Dirtmouth, he hurried to join them. The view would be spectacular.

The statue was so old, so unassuming, Grimm hadn’t noticed it when they’d first passed over. It was so wind-worn its original form was barely visible. It did not glow like the sigils, yet there was a power in the way it loomed at the edge, like it watched over all of Hallownest. He couldn’t help but imagine how it must look with the sun rising behind it. Though he hadn’t been there to fight her, the moth god was unmistakable. Grimm easily guessed that this was The Radiance.

Just as the realization hit him, Ghost’s cloak flared backwards, and they released a spell from deep within their being. The massive ball of soul and void collided with the statue. It shattered instantly to dust. The tip of a wing plunged down into the mines below while the rest of it floated away on the wind. This was a step past murder. This was a deep, spiritual violence Grimm could feel in the air.

“I hadn’t realized this was here,” he said, as smooth and composed as ever, despite the weight of the moment. “Good thinking. All you went through would be a terrible waste if she was still remembered.”

Ghost nodded enthusiastically, as he’d finally caught on. Then, they jumped off the edge, skidding along the steep slant that would eventually drop them into a mineshaft. Laughing, Grimm hurried to join them, balancing on a piece of rubble like a skateboard.

What had sparked this particular mission was a mystery to Grimm, but it was far from over.

~

The Royal Waterways was no place for gods. Grimm voiced these concerns as they descended into the foul-smelling pipes, but the only response he got from Ghost was for them to begin to quiver it what only could have been silent laughter. Grimm had been mostly joking—he’d been in the waterways many times—but to elicit such a reaction from Ghost, there had to be something he was missing. Still, it was nice to see his friend exhibit emotion. It happened so rarely it always felt like a gift.

Grimm and Ghost had traversed the expansive sewer system more times than Grimm cared to remember. Today, they entered from the Fungal Wastes. Just below Mantis Village, an area of pipes poured tainted water endlessly into the mushrooms, which seemed to like it, at least. Grimm, on the other hand, found himself reverting back to his childhood habit of hovering behind Ghost while refusing to touch the ground. If they wanted to swim through that water that was their prerogative. Ghost lead him into the bowls of the waterways, where the walls were covered with the dried excretions of flukes. There didn’t appear to be any of the disgusting creatures remaining; whether that was because of the infection or he and Ghost murdering their matriarch, at least their slobbering no longer echoed down the corridors.

When Ghost clambered through a small hole in the wall, Grimm was unsure if he’d been here before. He’d never had the best head for directions, and all the pipes looked the same, but there was something unfamiliar about the area of sewer that greeted them on the other side. The deteriorating bodies of the flukes they passed were larger than any he’d ever seen. More disturbingly, Grimm began to see living baby flukes, squirming among the refuse.

“Please tell me we’re not going to make an offering to the new Flukemarm,” Grimm pleaded. “Some gods are best left forgotten.”

Ghost shook their head, but detached one of the babies from the wall, slinging it in his direction. If Grimm hadn’t teleported it would have hit him square in the face.

“Well I’m sorry one of us has standards for cleanliness…”

Elbowing him affectionately, Ghost began to polish some slime from Grimm’s horn in an exaggerated manner.

“Thanks,” he said, sarcastically.

Soon, Grimm’s suspicions about this being unknown ground were confirmed. After sliding down a long pipe, they stepped out onto the ledge of a massive cavern. Grimm would have remembered this place. Here, the architecture of the Royal Waterways gave way to an isolated pocket of the Fungal Wastes. This cavern was surely far below the area they ordinarily tread. Countless waterfalls rushed into the stagnant pool below them, bringing with it all the city’s forgotten junk. Perhaps this was the final destination for the capital’s endless rain.

Charging the Crystal Heart, Ghost shot across the water, Grimm following as fast as he could. They landed among the towers of garbage, some significantly taller than they were.

“A graveyard of the inanimate,” Grimm noted.

Ghost picked their way through the junk with purpose, until they rounded a pile to find a living bug. It was taller than both of them, which was impressive since few bugs could claim to be taller than Ghost anymore. It had a fat, swollen body and a golden mask that was miraculously clean despite its surroundings. It rested lazily near the feat of a massive, open coffin just as golden as its mask.

“Cringer, thou grow larger still,” it purred, its voice deep and rumbling, “but what dost it brings before Us?” The mask turned to look at him and suddenly its demeanor changed entirely. “O to find a god of thy stature in a place such as this… Dost thou test Us?” It slumped to its knees, face almost touching the ground. “We are not worthy.”

Ignoring it, Ghost linked arms with him, summoning the Dreamnail into their other hand.

“Always happy to meet a fan.” Grimm winked, as Ghost stabbed the translucent blade into its neck.

What they stepped into was no ordinary dream. Grimm knew intuitively that they did not leave their bodies behind. Just like with the White Palace, this was a different plane of reality accessibly through a mind, not contained entirely within it. As the light of their transition faded, Grimm found himself somewhere beyond description. Everything was golden and the air itself hummed with power. And the strangest part was, it was familiar to him. He remembered a singing, resonating with his very being, as he clutched Ghost’s golden artifact. He had been here before, yet he had never seen it.

Before them, a gleaming city floated in the clouds. Golden spires reached for the heavens, taller and more elegant than those in the City of Tears. It called to him, and he was drawn to it. A series of pillars poked through the clouds below them, leading from their island to the city’s gates. Ghost jumped from one to the next, seemingly unimpressed. Though Grimm got the sense they’d seen this before. As they moved through the holy city, they were watched from all sides. Masked figures wrapped in silks turned with eerie synchronization. Soul-infused waterfalls crashed down into expansive hot springs that mixed with the clouds. Bridges crisscrossed between the towers and platforms, and Ghost leapt from the edge, leading them down into the bowls of this place.

Everywhere Grimm went, they fell to their knees before him. At first, he hadn’t trusted this place, but the way he felt was electrifying. It was like every cheering crowd the Troup had ever entertained grovelling at his feet at once. The fire in his soul burned so hot it threatened to escape.

“This place…” Grimm breathed, “Ghost, I… what is this?”

Even if Ghost could have answered, there wouldn’t have been time. They’d been heading towards the arched entrance of one of the larger towers when the doors of an overlooking balcony banged open. Another of the masked figures appeared, and suddenly Grimm knew her name. It was as if, in welcome, a carpet of understanding had been rolled out in front of him.

“Godseeker,” he bowed politely, “an honour.”

“Most holy god of flame! Thou grace Us with thy presence! We reach to attune with thee. For thou to visit us in flesh is the greatest of honours. Did thou answer our call, or dost thou seek to test thyself for sport against such lesser gods?”

Grimm’s face split into a toothy grin, as if on its own accord. “I’ll be honest that this was not where I planned to end up today, but now that you mention it, that sounds absolutely fantastic.”

He turned to look at Ghost who had thus far been ignored. “I think this might be the best idea you’ve ever had. Hornet was right; the coliseum is below us now. And I’ve never seen a better audience.”

A murmur spread through the watchers like a ripple across a pond.

“Thou crawler!” the godseeker’s voice boomed. “In thy desire to attune with the gods of this kingdom, hast thou brought one of its greatest before Us? What divine whim has granted thee his favor we cannot fathom, but perhaps thou has use after all. Thy trespass We will tolerate, for the moment.”

Ghost glared up at her, then visibly unsheathed their nail, continuing on their path towards the arch.

“Wretch! Thou will ordain thine own destruction! With so holy a visitor there is no time for thou mischief. Thou defile this place with thy presence. The noise of thine wriggling creates much discord, drowning out the godly resonances we attune Ourselves to! Stay here and bask in their glory if thou must, but do not interfere. Through ritual combat We attune to the voices of the Gods. Thou have earned no such right!”

Confusion and anger momentarily pushed aside the haze of pleasure that hung over Grimm.

“What disrespect is this?” he demanded. “Do you know who you speak to?”

The spreading ripples grew larger, increasing in size until choppy waves broke the face of this vast sea of minds.

“Tell us o holy one, what has a meager creature such as this done to earn thy favor? We will do so as well.”

Ghost was looking back at him, head cocked slightly. How long had his friend suffered in silence while ignoring these creatures’ disrespect?

“You seek Hallownest’s gods, correct?” he demanded. “Well you speak to its heir with unfathomable rudeness. Before you is the child of the White Lady, and of the Pale King himself. This is the Knight who consumed the Old Light! The master of the void!”

“We are not ones to doubt your divine wisdom,” Godseeker bargained, as the storm of whispers that surrounded them reached gale-force. “Our only purpose is to attune with the gods. We heard ye calling. It drew us here. From this…” she stammered, “from this thing we feel nothing… No beacon. No song.”

“What else do you expect from the god of nothingness?” Grimm demanded. “By dismissing them you disrespect the Nightmare’s Heart, for it was they who slew my predecessor, at the height of his power!”

Crossing their arms, Ghost looked up at the godseeker expectantly.

When Godseeker spoke again, there was a tremor in her voice. “Very well. If thou are as he says, o meager one, show Us. Ascend! And if thou are not worthy may the gods utterly destroy thee!”

She let them continue inside without further interference. The Godtuner, as Grimm now knew it was called, was clutched in Ghost’s hand in a vicelike grip. And now, as they walked these gleaming halls, there were eyes on both of them. This first building was a collection of lofty galleries filled with statues, some of which were familiar to Grimm. Hallownest’s most powerful beings were immortalized here, among countless others, even if their mortal bodies had been slain. Godseekers filled the place, leaving offerings and praying.

Ghost appeared to be looking for something in particular, sometimes stopping to peer at the inscriptions. Across one of the rooms, a statue caught Grimm’s eye. It was him, standing atop a large pedestal. It was fitting. He was a god of many kingdoms, after all. Though this did not appear to be Ghost’s destination, he crossed to it, where many godseekers waited for him. Grimm bowed deeply. Then, with a snap of his fingers, he summoned braziers of fire around its base. It was of his realm, not this one, and as the flames crackled against the opposing energy the godseekers drew back in fear. Despite this, they seemed to like it, showing fear and reverence in equal measure. In eerie sync, they thanked him. And though he did not entirely want to leave, Grimm hurried to catch up with Ghost. There was still much to see here.

Either Ghost had found what they’d been looking for, or given up, because the pair headed out into the city. Gilded streets ran between countless spires of varying heights and shapes. Grimm knew now that each was an attempt by the godseekers to attune, using a different strategy or combination of gods. Yet they all paled in comparison to the spire in the center of the city. It was massive, reaching up so high it disappeared into the glare of the sun. This appeared to be where Ghost was heading, which was not difficult since every street curled upwards and inwards towards it, like the arms of a nautilus shell. He could feel that this was the pantheon of Hallownest, just like he could feel his place within it, calling out to him.

The singing in the air grew louder as they approached the massive doors. They opened before him, inviting, but Ghost stopped in their tracks, pressing their fist against a surface that was not there.

“What are you waiting for?” Grimm asked, offering them his hand.

But they could not take it. They could move no further forward. Sometimes it was difficult to read Ghost’s emotions. Today, it was not. They were angry as they slammed their nail into a barrier Grimm could not see; it seeped off of them in the form of void, and Grimm was angry too.

“I never would have expected this disrespect from creatures such as these. It’s unacceptable! You deserve a place in this pantheon more so than any of those statues. This is our kingdom…” Grimm faltered, “your kingdom. Your place is at the top.”

In response, Ghost twirled their nail, holding it ready at their side. Grimm understood perfectly. They would take their respect by force if need be.

“Hey,” Grimm offered, as Ghost turned away, “look on the bright side. Maybe this will be fun.”

Looking up at the sky, Ghost pointed to the web of bridges. There were other ways into the central spire.

“Do you want me to…?”

Ghost cut him off with a firm shake of their head. Clearly, they had other plans. They headed to one of the neighbouring spires—its doors flanked by massive, golden nails—and produced the Godtuner. There was a slot for it, like a keyhole. When Ghost pressed it into place the doors swung open, revealing a set of stairs leading upwards, always upwards. Grimm knew where they lead; to ascension through combat, to a true test of skill.

Grinning, he moved to enter, but Ghost stopped him. They shook their head again, holding out a flat palm. Though he didn’t like it, Grimm understood.

“You shouldn’t have to prove yourself to them. We should be able to enjoy this place together.”

Ghost nodded somberly, maybe apologetically, then headed up the stairs, disappeared into light and essence.

Without the Godtuner, none of the towers would open for Grimm. The godseekers might have surpassed the need for such a tool, but neither he nor Ghost could traverse the city properly without it. So, with nothing better to do, he returned to the central spire. The pantheon still called to him. Inside, he only briefly caught a glimpse of the opulent interior—massive staircases and bubbling fountains—before he was carried upwards by some strange power, emerging somewhere familiar. He knew he had shaped this place, the same way he could shape reality in the nightmare realm, though he must have done it subconsciously. This place was familiar, but just different enough to be strange.

The big top was larger than it had ever been before. The Troup’s music hung ever-present in the air. All around him, godseekers danced and performed, silhouetted in scarlet flame. They wore different masks, with two vertical lines, like those he gave to bugs who joined the Troupe. Had he given these? Grimm wasn’t sure, but the feeling of being here was so overpowering he didn’t have time to think about it. Spotlights pointed at the center ring; how could he resist?

But despite all this, despite the power that burned through him like fire, there was an absence in Grimm’s chest, in the shape of the flower Ghost had given him. Even if he was the most powerful god in the world, it would mean nothing if meant he would dance alone. The Nightmare’s Heart clenched disapprovingly at the thought, but it wasn’t the only power in his chest anymore. Where was Ghost? He was unsure how long he’d been here, or if time even existed on this plane. Perhaps it had been but a moment. He saw Godseeker watching him from a place of honour among the stands, and he flew up to stand before her.

“You are an audience unlike any I have ever entertained,” he kissed her hand, “but you have much here that intrigues me, outside this realm of mine. Here gods prove their might against one another, correct?”

“So Our purpose is so divine? To ascend? To commune? That even gods as great as thee seeks it also? We are unsurprised but flattered still.” She rose to her feet, wrapping her silks tighter around herself. Her mask was golden once more, but he did not remember seeing her change it. “Alas such a task does not come easily, even to one such as thee. The gods of this kingdom must be tuned, and only one such instrument made its way to Hallownest. It rests in the hands of that creature you swear to be a god. Thou are attuned with none save yourself… and that silent thing, though how that was managed mystifies Us.”

It was true, Grimm realized. He could feel Ghost’s presence. Through the absence, he knew they were somewhere here. An idea crept slowly into his mind.

“So, it appears I have only one option then. If there is only one other god I am attuned with, then I at least desire to witness their ascension.”

If Godseeker was unhappy with his command, she hid it well. Easily, he was able to find the place where his domain gave way to the golden city. They graciously showed him the way, for he had commanded it. He passed stairs leading downwards, but although the spire continued upwards, he saw no steps in that direction. Many bridges connected tower to tower. So, of course, the first door he opened lead onto the one he required. That was just how Godhome was. Like all places in the dream and nightmare realms, it adhered to its own logic. He flew excitedly along its length, a sourceless sun beating down on his back. Until, on the other side, he found an arena.

The godseekers were a silent audience, especially when compared with the rowdy crowds of the coliseum, but they had a way of watching that felt heavier. Godseeker herself already sat upon a throne, overlooking the battle. So, he hadn’t had her undivided attention after all. If Lord Fool counted as a god, then she certainly did as well, even if she’d convinced herself she was not. She was a parasitic, hungry god, reaching endlessly for others. Who was he to judge? They all had their own ways. Grimm went to sit beside her, as below them, Ghost faced off against God Tamer. So, this champion of the coliseum was a champion in the godseekers’ mind as well. Though her name was very on-brand, it offended Grimm slightly that they would consider her a god over Ghost. Sure, her reputation and legend still hung over the coliseum, but it was nothing compared to theirs. They’d killed her already, after all.

Ghost slammed downwards, burying their nail in the beast’s back, an explosion of void knocking it onto its stomach. Its shell cracked, infected bile spilling from a slack maw. The tamer fell to her knees before her dead god, her sobs loud in the silent room. It could have just been his imagination, but for a moment the godseekers seemed to grow somber.

Grimm clapped, breaking that silence, and Ghost looked up to see him. They waved as beside them God Tamer and her dead beast faded back into nothingness.

Turning to Godseeker, Grimm said, “as entertaining as that was, it was nowhere near a match between equals. When Ghost and I fight it is like a dance. Would you allow us to show you?”

She nodded, raising a hand to the sky. Then suddenly everything was light, as they all soared upwards together. When it faded, the arena was no longer reminiscent of the coliseum. Instead, the rippling red walls suggested the tents of the Troup. Despite the size of the ring there was a familiar intimacy to this stage, and Grimm flew excitedly down to land on it. Up close, Grimm noticed how worn-down Ghost looked. Their shell was scuffed and cracked in places. A droplet of void dripped from their eye like a tear. Breathing deeply, they squared their shoulders, and the glow of soul permeated their being. Power swirled around them as their wounds grew closed.

“Are you alright?” Grimm asked. “Because with how amazing this place makes me feel, I was hoping to give the show of a lifetime.”

Ghost nodded curtly, squeezing their nail, but there was no artistry in their posture, no flare. Ghost looked ready to fight, but that was about it. Snapping his fingers, Grimm summoned music and circling spotlights. This may not have been his stage, but he wasn’t capable of toning down his show. He bowed deeply to Godseeker, before extending a hand in Ghost’s direction. They lunged at him. They did not start with a dance, as they often did. They did not circle each other, building tension. This time, Ghost lead with their blade, and Grimm was alright with that. His fire had been burning so hot he’d been itching to let it out. With the godseekers’ adoration at his back Grimm’s dance was faster and more graceful than it had ever been. Though, as battered as they’d first appeared, the same seemed to apply—at least to some extent—to Ghost.

How many times had they done this? It had never felt like this. Grimm had never felt this good in his life. He’d never felt this powerful.

Ghost held nothing back. Perhaps, in the past, they had been more conscious of Grimm’s aversion to void than he’d realized. Today, their magic came more frequently. The abyss screamed, drowning out the thunderous music. It lashed out at him, given form by Ghost’s magic, yet he was not afraid. His fire burned too brightly to be extinguished by it. Flame-red bats flew into the darkness, tearing it to shreds. Ghost was an exceptional fighter, and with the godseekers’ curiosity they were elevated even higher, but Grimm knew them. He’d memorized their tells, the patterns of their attacks; the rhythm of their dance. More often than not, he lost, but not today. Riding the high of Godhome, he was unstoppable.

The final blow was a downward kick, bringing them closer together than they’d been the entire fight. As Grimm’s foot connected with their chest their faces were inches apart. In that moment, Grimm sensed something from them that surprised him. Anger. Had this not just been a game? A dance between friends? Ghost slammed into the ground, their mask cracking. As Grimm stood with his foot on their chest, they faded into light. He wasn’t worried, of course. Like a dream, there were no consequences in this place. Not physical ones, at least. Anxiety gnawed at Grimm, even as the godseekers’ approval filled him with warmth.

He gave a few half-hearted bows, before flying up to stand before her throne. “Where are they? I’d like to bow alongside my fellow performer.”

Godseeker pointed behind her, to where the red of the tent had given way to a view of the golden city. “Down with those unworthy of ascension. Thou were wise to smite it for its hubris.”

“That was a dance of equals,” Grimm protested, desperate to undo any harm he’d done, “how could you have watched them fight and still not see that? Bring them back up here. Even if you refuse to see the truth, they’re mine, and I want them beside me.”

“Very well,” Godseeker conceded, “We do as thou command. We still resonate with the power of thy holy combat. Thou were correct, such a fight was unlike all those that came before.”

With a wave of her hand, Godseeker summoned them. They stood at the top of a set of stairs, leaning on the arched frame. With the fight complete, the trappings of the arena had faded away, revealing a golden ring on the top of a tower. Stairs lead down and bridges stretched out in various directions. Grimm reached out a hand towards Ghost. They could take a bow together, as they always did, and everything would be alright.

Ghost did not come to him. Instead, they took off running, dashing right through a line of godseekers, like the ethereal being their name suggested. Their Shade Cloak was out of place under the warmth of the sun. The dripping darkness from which it was woven looked at risk of evaporating. At the edge of one of the bridges, Ghost began to charge the Crystal Heart, and Grimm understood. Ghost had come up here not to earn respect and adoration, not to enjoy the challenge of this place, but to force their way into the pantheon. Though he did not understand why, at least now he saw that. But surely defying Godseeker would not earn them a place there. It was not a physical place that could be broken in to.

Ghost went flying before Grimm could catch them. He called after them but was met only with shards of pink crystal. Nervously, Grimm looked back towards Godseeker, who had not even risen from her throne.

“It disturbs Our focus with its wriggling, yet if it craves ascension such trespass will draw it no closer. It will find only the god whose domain it falls under, if it does indeed have one. Perhaps it will find its way to thy realm.”

She confirmed what he’d already expected, that Ghost would find no solace from their frustration through this path. He took off after them, and on the other side he found a pale space filled with soft, white light. Ghost stood in the middle of the room, staring across a bank of white clouds at a throne. Grimm knew this place. It was an echo of the White Palace. And Godseeker was here as well—omnipresent—also standing at the edge and looking at the empty seat.

When she spoke, it was with a great sadness. “Even long departed, We feel the afterglow of the God-power that sat this throne... It lays heavy upon this kingdom. That lingering power alone was beacon enough to draw Us to Hallownest. How bright it must have been to mortal bug stood before it.”

Ghost was shaking. They clutched their nail as if they intended to snap it, seemingly unaware of Grimm’s presence.

“Strange that thy trespass would find thee here.” Godseeker really looked at them for the first time, perhaps finally considering what Grimm had told her about their parentage. “Perhaps thou also yearn for what is lost.”

Shaking their head, Ghost began to scour the room, looking for a way up, Grimm assumed. They noticed Grimm standing by the arch but did not acknowledge him. What was happening? Why was Ghost angry with him?

“A God so strong... Yet erased so completely.” Godseeker mused, almost as if she’d forgotten about them. “How could it happen? Drawn by beacon’s wake, we reached this kingdom to find it gone… yet despair did not consume Us. Our purpose still stood. To attune the one greater still, a God of Gods! Buried in this kingdom. Calling to us.”

A cold chill ran up Grimm’s spine. Finally, Ghost was looking at him. They jabbed their nail upwards, pointing at the cavernous white ceiling. But Grimm knew what they meant. Outside, the sourceless sun, the buildings of the city reaching endlessly towards the Light. She was not forgotten. On the contrary, with the devotion of the godseekers, her rage would be more terrible than it had ever been.

“Are We being punished?” Godseeker asked him. “To arrive here and have it happen once more. Light snuffed out… torturous silence descending upon Our mind. What force wishes for silence? What terrible thing dwells here? To be forgotten forever. For a god, that is true death. But for anything to have defeated this God of Gods is unthinkable. We may no longer feel her, but We do not give up. We do not concede.”

“Is that why you hate them?” Grimm demanded.

“Of what dost thou speak?” She feigned ignorance, and it only made him angrier.

“I know you remember. I told you who they are when we first arrived. If your purpose is to listen to the gods, then why don’t you?”

She stared at Ghost, who had taken a slumped seat on the edge across from the throne, their head bowed in defeat.

“Blasphemy! To imply this speck capable of defeating the God of Gods… Thou blasphemy was graciously ignored.” Her words were forceful but there was an uncertainty to them. When she spoke again, it was almost to herself. “Yet there is something of it that invokes thoughts of that chained god of nothingness… as if it is made in its image. It assumes a similar shape, and the deep echo within it seems familiar...” She snapped out of her musings like she’d been slapped, turning her anger on Grimm. “Ahh! What thoughts are these? Thou sow blasphemies in Our mind. Within that god was the key to our goal, buried power immeasurable. We feel nothing of the sort from this wretch! Foolish of Us not to expect a god of fear to spin stories. Dost thou mean to thwart our sacred goal? Dost envy drive thou to such madness?”

Grimm bared his fangs, summoning a ball of fire in his hand. He was the god of nightmares. It was wrong that they did not fear him. He snarled, and it seemed to reverberate through this place, base and guttural.

“Great thou are…” Godseeker stammered, “but not the greatest. Our purpose leads us higher! Ever higher! We reach to attain communion with that greater power sleeping in the Kingdom's heart...”

With a final roar, Grimm sent the fire to her, and she was set alight. But as the flames consumed her there was no fear in her eyes, no pain. She accepted his judgment gratefully, head titled back in ecstasy. Though she was gone, she was not dead. He could feel her, like she was woven into the very walls of this place. Despite this, they were left alone, or at least as alone as they could be here.

Ghost sat with their legs dangling into the clouds, glaring at the empty throne, unreachable on its pale pedestal. Grimm knew it was not the sort of place that could be flown to. Quietly, he moved to sit beside them. Perhaps it would be presumptuous to assume he was the one Ghost was angry with.

It might have just been his imagination, but the room seemed slightly different than when they’d first entered. The clouds were less fluffy white and more overcast. The pale light felt as if it was filtering in through dirty glass. Maybe Godseeker had listened to what he’d said after all, just a little. Maybe that was why motes of void floated innocently in beams of light, just like they did in the ruins of the real White Palace. For the first time, Grimm began to wonder about the repercussions of what he’d just done, but those worries were replaced by more immediate ones when Ghost turned to look at him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t understand the danger of this place,” Grimm said. “It’s easy to get caught up in it… the power they can give me. But if they can bring her back, undo everything you’ve done...” he trailed off.

Ghost nodded earnestly. There was a relieved slackness to their posture.

“Sometimes I forget that not everything is a game. That’s my nature. But—but I’ll try. For you, I’ll always try.”

Suddenly, Grimm felt self-conscious under their gaze. Recently, emotions had become easier to read in Ghost; the anger they’d been so strongly exuding disproved the myth of emptiness. And they were certainly showing emotion now. Grimm just wasn’t sure which one.

“Regardless, I should thank you for snapping me out of it,” he quickly added. “As much as I love an audience, I could never tolerate a leash.”

Ghost pressed their forehead to his, like an answer, and Grimm understood. They were telling him it was alright, that they accepted his apology, maybe even offering an apology of their own. Letting his eyes slide closed, Grimm relished the moment.

“Let’s get out of here,” he finally suggested, not pulling away. “I know the importance of your quest, but this place is dangerous, even for you, and for the moment the Light is out of their reach. If we ever return, we will need to do so with caution.”

Nodding, Ghost helped him to his feet, summoning the Dreamnail in their other hand.

Grimm hoped they took his warning to heart and, for a time, they did. Ghost did not return to Godhome immediately, at least not of their own volition. Though for Grimm, at least, their visit had not been without consequence. The godseekers knew him now, loved him, needed him even. He could feel them watching him, and there was enough power in their reverence that he could not ignore it like he could the audiences of Dirtmouth. He was in their mind, and that was not somewhere that could be easily escaped. He did not like it. This was not how the Nightmare King was meant to be revered. Sure, they feared him, but only as much as they were supposed to. It was performative. He could see that their truest fear, their deepest nightmare, was silence. It was a quiet mind, an absence of gods, and they would not let him show that to them.

Grimm only hoped something similar was not happening to Ghost, because if it was then it would be his fault for putting his friend’s godhood into their mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone is still enjoying this! I felt the Godhome scene dragged on a bit longer than I initially envisioned, but I needed to set a lot of stuff up. I'm very excited for the next chapter though!!! Trying to write authentic-ish Godseeker dialogue was really bogging me down.
> 
> Also, I think 6 might actually be the proper chapter estimate this time (I say, hoping not to jinx it.)
> 
> I will warn you, my schedule of updating every Thursday might break down next week. I'm not that far into the next chapter and school/life might not allow for me to write it in a week. I might make it (but probably not.)


	4. Fallen to Ruin

In the days following Grimm’s first trip to Godhome, Ghost became distracted by another quest. Grimm was glad for this, as the ceaseless adoration of the godseekers made him nervous. Even if the godseekers reached for the Light, they surely had some time before it became a problem. The void had consumed The Radiance so completely… Grimm knew from experience there was no coming back from that, at least not easily.

As usual, he did not immediately understand their new mission, but he would pick up on it quickly enough. Grimm could now prove with confidence that vessels were not empty. They could fear, and want, and love. They could be angry, petty, vengeful things, just like any other being. Today’s quest would demonstrate this more than any before it.

The day began with Ghost packing up a large chunk of their collected artifacts into the seemingly endless space within their dark cloak. Their apartment looked too empty, but Grimm figured it wouldn’t be long until they found new things to fill it with. It wasn’t a long walk to the broken bridge that lead into the city, and Ghost made a beeline for it.

The only wildlife the capital city had regained thus far were adventurers. Without the infection to take their minds or the husks to tear them apart, many more visitors were making it to the kingdom’s heart. There was a lot of room in the empty city, and some of them had never left. There were nearly endless towers to loot, treasures and history to unearth at every corner. There was not yet society here, but the halls were not entirely empty either. The City of Tears was beautiful, Grimm would admit that. Even now, he stopped to look through the windows as they descended the tower. Rain ran endlessly over the glass, making the city below look like a smudged painting. Though it wasn’t his aesthetic of choice, Grimm had respect for the somber mood of this place; opulence and grandeur mixed with an ever-present melancholy.

They walked through the ruined streets, cobblestones crumbling into the canals. Neither were bothered by the rain. Ghost seemed not to notice it, and the droplets evaporated into steam as they contacted Grimm’s cloak. On all sides, the spires loomed, their bulging windows still intact, even after all this time. He’d already guessed where they were going, a theory which was confirmed as they stepped into a familiar building. A short elevator ride later, they were standing before a makeshift storefront.

Relic Seeker Lemm hadn’t been the biggest fan of Grimmchild. As a child, Grimm had been the sort to set fire to things to see what would happen. Once, he’d almost been banned from the shop. Had Ghost not brought a particularly impressive haul of artifacts that day, he probably would have been. Grimm had always found it infinitely funny that Lemm craved knowledge of Hallownest’s past, thinking it out of his reach when Ghost stood right in front of him. He never realized the wealth of knowledge possessed by his silent visitor. If Grimm remembered correctly, the relic seeker had a particular fascination with The Hollow Knight, and he was excited to see if he’d react to Ghost’s new visage.

Lemm started as they pushed through the door, looking fearful for a moment before composing himself.

“Ah, look who it is! You’re even bigger than the last time you came poking around here. I’d ask what you’ve been eating, but something tells me I don’t want to know. Stop looming in my doorway and come inside. And be careful not to drip on anything.”

So, it seemed this was not the first time Ghost had visited since their resurrection. There were moments—however rare—where Grimm and Ghost were not together; or perhaps it had occurred while he’d been healing.

Grimm peaked his head out from behind Ghost, taking in the cluttered desk and teetering shelves. Lemm’s impressive beard was greyer than Grimm remembered. What little of his face was visible showed deep lines, and his posture had more of a hunch to it. Just another sign that time trudged ever forward, whether Grimm wanted it to or not.

“Oh fantastic,” Lemm sighed, as he caught sight of him.

However, he did not tell him to leave, so Grimm decided to call it a victory. He could sense Lemm’s fear, though the crochety bug concealed it well. Grimm’s appearance was meant to frighten, but the relic seeker had the advantage of remembering his younger form. Grimm lurked in the back of the shop as Ghost walked up to the desk.

“Even with all these new visitors you’re still my best customer,” Lemm told them. “Half of the better part of my collection is thanks to you. You’re also the silent sort, which I appreciate. The city is feeling overcrowded these days, and I don’t fancy living in a tourist trap. There are too many chatty bugs with nothing to offer. I’m here for relics, not for neighbours.”

“A small price to pay to get rid of the husks, no?” Grimm asked, unable to help himself.

Nearly jumping out of his chair, Lemm swivelled to look at him. “I wasn’t expecting you to be so talkative. I think the only word I ever heard out of you was one particularly unpleasant insult.”

Grimm grinned. “I’m sorry for my lack of decorum. I was a rebellious youth.”

“Right,” Lemm said, entirely aware of his sarcasm and returning it in kind. “Apology accepted.”

“Travelling with Ghost here, it took a while for me to get used to conversation.”

“Why bother? I don’t find it a particularly useful skill.” Turning to Ghost, Lemm asked, “so, what have you got for me? Don’t let me get my hopes up for nothing. I’ve had nothing in weeks aside from looters bringing me a chair from the next room.”

From within their cloak, Ghost produced a small idol with a familiar, horned crown.

“A King's Idol? With as many of these as you've delivered, the other Relic Seekers are like to think I've gone mad for the King!” Despite his words, Lemm was clearly excited, reaching across the desk expectantly.

Ghost shook their head. They pointed at Lemm, then at the idol, and then at themselves.

“What are you going on about? I’ll pay you the regular amount, of course.”

Again, Ghost shook their head. This time, they pointed at a shelf behind the desk, where a row of king’s idols sat proudly. They pointed at themselves.

“Sorry but I don’t do buybacks. I paid you fair and square for those, and I intend to keep them.”

Grimm was just starting to put the pieces together and a smile wormed its way across his face as Ghost’s intentions clarified. Next, Ghost produced a pouch, heavy with geo, shaking it in front of the relic seeker.

“I don’t want my geo back. If I wanted geo I wouldn’t be throwing it at you for every piece of garbage you dragged in here.”

Ghost slammed both the geo and the idol down on the edge of the desk with what was probably excessive force. Then, without asking, they began to push the clutter aside. Lemm tried to protest as his work was unceremoniously disturbed, but in the end all he could do was help Ghost clear the desk in such a way that his belongings remained intact. Then, Ghost began to take objects out of their cloak. One by one they placed them in front of Lemm; their entire collection. There were seals, and journals, and any other interesting curios they’d picked up in their travels. Grimm noticed the glowing lifeblood orb he’d taken a liking to. There was also a small bottle that appeared to contain some of the void itself. The black liquid sloshed and squirmed, as if trying to break free from its fragile container. Grimm tried not to look at it.

About halfway through Lemm had given up all attempts at a poker face. His mouth hung open as he carefully touched some of the artifacts with shaking, reverent fingers. Once the entire surface was covered, Ghost picked up the king’s idol again, brandishing it pointedly.

“I… um…” Lemm stammered. “I believe I have enough geo here for all of it. It’s been easier gathering it up since…”

Ghost shook their head.

“I don’t understand what you want,” said Lemm, in a way that indicated he did not like the little understanding that he had.

Again, Ghost displayed the king’s idol. Then, they slammed it on the edge of the desk. Lemm gasped, rushing forward in a useless attempt to stop its destruction. He fell to his knees, trying to pick up the head where it was now detached from the body. He was too slow. Ghost placed their heel on the carved stone and crushed. Grimm couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled from his throat.

“I think it’s clear,” Grimm said, “that they’re proposing a trade.”

Lemm straightened, having managed to gather some of the dust in his hand. He was somewhere between listless and angry, shooting looks towards his collection that indicated he was entirely aware that if Ghost truly wanted to take the idols, there was nothing he could do to stop them.

“No matter what you offer, I won’t abide by the destruction of history,” Lemm argued with the stubbornness created by age and isolation. “I deal in geo, not trade. I thought I’d made that clear.”

Calmly, as if they’d been expecting this, Ghost withdrew three more objects from their cloak. Three black spheres, so dark they looked like a tear in reality. Though he was not entirely sure of their nature, Grimm could tell they were of the void, and he drew back instinctually. Lemm, on the other hand, looked moments from weeping with joy. All anger and fear had been buried under his excitement as he reached to take one of them. Ghost swatted him away.

“More arcane eggs?” he breathed. “I barely believed it when you brought me the first one. It's a rare chance to own two of these… but four? I'll be the envy of all my colleagues. These eggs are the most desired find from time before Hallownest. An egg is a perfect protective form. In Hallownest we use stone journals or tablets, our text engraved atop. These eggs are far more secure. Their records are stored within.”

“How much do you know of them?” Grimm couldn’t help himself. What connection had Hallownest’s predecessor civilization had to the void?

“In fear of damaging the eggs, I've only been able to access the outer layer, but it's clear those in the distant past could somehow access information stored even deeper within. Maybe with four I’ll be able to unlock their secrets. Just think of the discoveries to be made!”

Lemm’s shoulders slumped, as he followed Ghost’s gaze to the shelf of idols. “I suppose you leave me no choice, eh? And I am getting the better end of the deal, geo wise.”

“A wise decision.” Grimm sidled closer. “While you’re at it, we’re going to need any other artifacts that depict or mention the king. Even then, it’s not really a fair trade, but you’re lucky Ghost is more generous than I.”

Grimm could see the approval in his friend’s dark eye, and the fear in Lemm’s. The relic seeker gave no further argument and went into the back room to gather up the relics.

“We’ll know if you miss one,” Grimm called after him. “Or maybe we won’t… but I wouldn’t risk it.”

In the end, there wasn’t that much here: the idols, some written tablets, and a few other pieces of iconography. As Lemm said, Hallownest’s king had been a mysterious figure. Ghost was able to fit it all within their cloak aside from a large relief that looked like it had been torn from a wall.

As they packed up, Lemm gazed at his window. It was almost entirely obstructed by clutter, but between the shelves and towering piles, the courtyard below was visible. In its centre, the statue of The Hollow Knight stared into the distance.

“What reason could you have to do this?” Lemm mused. Grimm wasn’t sure if he was talking to Ghost or himself. “What could you know of Hallownest’s forgotten monarch to invoke this rage? This destruction? It doesn’t make sense. It’s like you’ve engineered this situation just to torture me.”

“It’s about time, if you ask me.” Grimm couldn’t help himself. “I think they’ve earned this.”

Lemm spun instantly to face him, but Ghost shot him an angry look, elbowing him in the chest.

“What do you mean by that? If you know something of the Pale King… I’ll pay…” Lemm was near desperation.

Grimm shrugged helplessly, heading towards the door.

“No wait! You—you can talk.” He said it as if he was just realizing it for the first time. “You can tell me why they’re doing this. You can tell me who they are. No ordinary bug finds four arcane eggs, and every time I see them, they look more like The Hollow Knight. I’ve been telling myself it’s a coincidence, but you know, you have answers. Tell me my theories are mad. I’d be glad to hear it.”

Ghost’s eyes were like daggers. Grimm may not have understood why Ghost objected to talking to Lemm, but he could definitely tell that they did.

“How would I know?” He shrugged again. “They can’t talk to me either. All I’ve picked up are bits and pieces.”

Before Lemm could call him on his blatant lie, Grimm teleported outside the shop. He could hear Lemm pleading with Ghost through the wall, and there was a part of him that wanted to go back and tell him, just to see how he’d react. In the end, he didn’t. What business of his were Hallownest’s secrets? He was not of this kingdom. It was with a tinge of sadness that Grimm remembered this. The Troupe had no home aside from nightmares. They could not stand still for fear of burning out.

~

Ghost cut a doorway into reality with a single smooth flourish of their Dreamnail. The shape of it was foreign to Grimm. This was not the door into their shared dream, nor the one that lead back home. It was grander somehow, and still dragging the relief of the Pale King, Ghost pushed their way inside. Grimm followed and found himself in the White Palace for the second time in his life. It was different than he remembered; darker, more empty. Less light filtered in through the massive windows and the lingering spirits of the king’s retainers were fewer in number. Was this dream decaying? Or was it becoming something else? It was certainly less hostile to their presence. With creeping realization, Grimm concluded that it was Ghost’s domain now. It no longer tried to expel them like a body pushing out a foreign contaminant. Instead of spikes and spinning blades they were greeted by lights flickering to life and doors swinging open.

Grimm followed Ghost further into the palace than he’d ever been, marveling in its empty splendor. To say the White Palace was located in the dream realm was not entirely accurate. Like Godhome, it had certainly been sculpted from it—it was not of the nightmare realm—but it was something else now. The White Palace had been the domain of a powerful god. It was its own. They ascended the tallest tower, fluffy white clouds and twisting vines spreading out below them. White root cradled the palace, winding through the clouds, the mark of another higher being, of a domain shared.

The decorations up here were more intricate and beautiful than those below, or at least they had been once. Grimm froze, unable to step off the elevator. Veins of void curled across the ground, merging with the puddles forming around the empty and inert armor of Kingsmolds. It did not shift and squirm like the void in the abyss. It looked almost to have dried, like thick paint. Perhaps, a long time ago, it had dripped down the grand staircase, flowing out from what he realized had once been the throne room. Ghost paused halfway up, as they realized he was not following. They turned back, cocking their head to the side. Struggling to get his breathing under control, Grimm teleported to stand beside him.

“Nice place you have here,” he quipped “If you need tips on decorating your realm, I’m happy to help. You’ve left all the dust covers on.”

He hoped the humor covered his trepidation. How, after all this time, did he still fear the substance that made up the being he cared about most in the world? It was embarrassing and ridiculous. Ghost nodded, then continued their ascent. The air was heavy here. Ahead of them, the ambient glow of the White Palace gave way to darkness. Ghost dragged the relief of the Pale King up the stairs behind them. The sound it made against the floor was deafeningly loud in the stillness.

Of course, Grimm had always suspected this to have been the fate of the Pale King. The White Lady had said as much. He’d been a desperate bug, consumed by his own obsession, by his own hubris in thinking he could control something much more ancient than he. But it was one thing to know, and another to see. What had once been a grand throne room sat in darkness. Void particles hung in the air. The cracks in the smooth floor were dark, as if it had drained away, as if there had once been much more of it. The throne sat empty, but on the floor before it lay a crumpled body.

It was so small.

Ghost kicked it, pushing the body of their father into the back corner. Dropping the relief beside its inspiration, they began to empty the contents of their cloak. Now hidden from the sight of mortal bugs, it was as if they didn’t even care enough to destroy the Pale King’s legacy properly. The great monarch had been reduced to a pile of junk. Seemingly satisfied, Ghost slumped onto the throne. There was a strange energy about them, and Grimm was momentarily unsure how to approach. He felt as if he was seeing a side of Ghost he never had before. It was like they’d forgotten he was even there.

Shaking himself free of the frozen stupor of this place, Grimm approached them. Gently stroking one of Ghost’s horns, he gained their attention. “Kind of dreary, if you ask me. Though it’s not my domain.”

Ghost shrugged, looking blankly towards the window, which was stained so dark no light made it through.

“You’ve got a whole palace!” Grimm argued. “It’s great, now that it’s not full of saw blades. It’s so regal, like the sort of place you’d throw a masquerade ball. Think of the courtly intrigue, the glamour, the horrifying political games that must have been played here.”

He was partially joking, putting on his usual show, but there was something about the White Palace that excited him. There was a spark in Ghost’s eyes as they looked at him, and without warning they were on their feet, grabbing his arm in a surprisingly painful grip. At first, Grimm just followed along, allowing Ghost to pull him through the halls, but as he began to understand, his joy grew. Ghost’s domain transformed around them. There was more light, but filtered through stylized lanterns, casting twisting, dancing shadows across everything. Soul fountains poured endlessly into expansive hot springs, and Grimm found himself being pulled through them; happy enough with Ghost, in the warm liquid, despite it not being what ran through his veins.

Those retainers that remained wore masks, not those of the Troupe, but like some stylistic halfway point between the Pale King’s boring regality and his eccentric wildness. It was as Grimm had described, a masquerade ball, filled with shifting shadows and masks not quite good enough to conceal one’s identity. There was a strange mania to Ghost’s actions, but Grimm was happy enough to play along. He would go anywhere with Ghost, especially a beautifully twisted dream such as this. Was this how bugs felt as they were drawn in by the flames of the Troupe? He’d never felt it before, himself; the pull of the exotic and mysterious, but dangerous, hiding something sharp just below the surface.

They found themselves in a ballroom, where all the palace’s remaining ghosts had apparently convened. They danced to music so distorted and strange it put the Troupe’s musicians to shame. Grimm tried to memorize the tune but found he could not.

Ghost pulled him onto the dancefloor and Grimm laughed. “Where is all this coming from? It’s amazing! I’ve never been to a party like this, and that’s saying something… seriously.”

As an answer, Ghost pulled him close, and they began to dance. There was no fight this time, no competition, just the waltz Grimm had taught them so long ago, executed with perfect presentation. There was no audience, and for once Grimm did not wish for one. As they danced life back into the White Palace, tearing off dust covers as they spun by, Grimm realized that despite their muteness, Ghost was trying to tell him something. This was an invitation. So, tentatively at first, he began to bring his own light to the palace. Flames lit along the windowsills, the red devilishly out of place among the white and grey. Ghost seemed to like this so as the song reached its final crescendo, and Ghost dipped him, Grimm snapped his fingers, filling the hall with fireworks. It smashed one of the windows, showering the dancefloor with glass, but all Grimm could do was laugh.

At one point, Grimm asked Ghost if he could invite some of his people; some mischief to dilute the melancholy memory of the retainers. To show their agreement, Ghost unsheathed their Dreamnail, cutting a hole to the nightmare realm themselves. Red light spilled in, warm and familiar, and Grimm heard everything he’d ever wanted to hear.

_“This place is ours. What does it mean to me alone?”_

_“Without you, Hallownest is still empty, still dead.”_

Maybe he heard what he wanted to, but Grimm refused to stop hearing it.

When the transformation was complete, the White Place was something else. The connection to the nightmare realm had become a proper doorway, lead up to by a set of velvet steps. The patchwork veins of the Nightmare’s Heart ran down the corridors and wound through the clouds. The Grimmkin danced among the Royal Retainers, and it was beautiful chaos.

Ghost covered his eyes, carrying him through the palace. Grimm did not resist, for once embracing the darkness.

When Ghost removed their hand, they were back in the throne room. Before them sat two thrones. Grimm wasn’t sure when Ghost had created the second one, but it was a patchwork of familiar material, the veins feeding into it. The other throne was just as it had been; white, plain, and a bit too small for Ghost’s new height. But as part of a set it no longer looked so out of place.

Fittingly, Grimm had no words. Instead, he just bowed, taking his seat. Ghost sat beside him and everything was as it should be. In the joy of the moment, Grimm had forgotten all about the Pale King, whose body still lay crumpled in the far corner. How could Grimm leave Hallownest now? It was his; freely offered. How could he ever leave Ghost?

~

On one hand, things were good. Ghost and Grimm could move freely between the nightmare realm and White Palace. The shared stage on which they had always met was now a nexus, the connection between their two worlds. Hallownest was theirs and it was alive.

On the other, Grimm found himself in Godhome with increasing frequency. The golden city was inescapable. He would find it around innocuous corners in the nightmare realm. It haunted his dreams. And even worse, he was not alone. As lovely as it was to find Ghost there, it filled Grimm with guilt and dread to find them surrounded by curious godseekers. They had not yet awarded them their own level of the pantheon, but it seemed the mock White Palace was being leased. It did not show the version they had built together, but at least there was a place in Godhome Grimm knew to look for them.

Grimm found Hornet once, more lost than he was. Only half a higher being, she seemed to believe she was dreaming, berating him for bothering her while she slept. In a way, she was correct. He just wasn’t the one disturbing her.

For a while, it was just a part of life. If anything, it allowed Ghost and Grimm to check on the status of The Radiance without having to seek out Godhome themselves. Until one day, Grimm found a group of godseekers moving through the crowds in the White Palace, and he lost it a little. Neither he nor Ghost had invited them here. It was not theirs to take. So, he killed them, despite knowing it did very little to hurt their hivemind. If they wished to worship him, they would have to face the god he was meant to be. He was a showman and a performer, but also a monster, a nightmare.

From then on, any time Grimm found himself in Godhome, this was the side of himself he chose to show. Perhaps he was doing as they wanted, burning them to ash when they dared to enter his domain, but it felt good enough he didn’t care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends, I have returned. Have a chapter! I hope everyone has had a good new years and a good decade, lol. As always, I can't wait to hear what you guys think. :)
> 
> This chapter is a bit shorter than the other 3, <strike>but I decided it was better to have 3 (potentially) shorter final chapters than one that ends up being ludicrously long.</strike>
> 
> Edit: I change my mind. I'm doing one final chapter after this one, even if it ends up being long. (Mostly because I have a good name and don't know which one to use it on.)
> 
> Edit 2: lol it's 2 again. would have been like 10k


	5. Ascending Darkness (part 1)

No matter how many bugs attended, there was always just enough room in the big top to accommodate them. Things were always tight, shoulder to shoulder in the flickering darkness, but no one was ever left outside. This was a good thing, as Grimm and Ghost’s show in Dirtmouth was more popular than it had ever been. Grimm was unsure if Dirtmouth’s population had just increased or if their legend had grown such that it drew in bugs from further away, but regardless, the wonder and fear kept the lanterns of the troop burning and his lust for attention sated.

They’d just finished a particularly spectacular show in which Ghost showed off some of their void magic, and Grimm had found himself gloriously unbothered. He’d lost their duel, being tossed out over the audience where he’d erupted into a shower of embers. But the moment of frozen fear in the void stained darkness that followed was easily worth it, as Grimm waited in the wings to emerge and give his bow. The Troupe was alive with activity, even now that the spotlights were dark. Bugs tossed geo to the chittering Grimmkin, who played the strange collection of instruments they’d acquired across many kingdoms. They hurried shaking from Divine’s tent, their purses much lighter and their minds forever scarred. Ghost remained on the stage, graciously accepting offerings from their fans and allowing themselves—for once—to be looked upon by their people. While Grimm watched the scene among the tents with contentment, peering out of the shadow of the big top.

“Good show. I should stop by more often.”

The voice took Grimm by surprise. He had not noticed Hornet among the audience. This quickly made sense, as he located the source of the voice, he noticed the new cloak she wore over her traditional red. It was brown and ratty, covering her horns like a veil. There was something strange in her posture, a tension, and she spoke like she was telling a joke he was not in on. Grimm had never seen the spider princess so unsteady. Detached? Sure. Angry? Of course. Mournful? It was so much of what she was these days. But never this. This was something else.

Still, Grimm did a little bow, trying to break the tension with a toothy smile. “We are honored to have your attendance. You got quite lucky. I consider this to be one of our best shows yet.”

Hornet laughed, and then became very serious. “Come with me.”

Grimm raised a brow. “Of course, but may I ask why?”

“There’s something you need to see.”

“One moment. I’ll just tell Ghost and—”

“Don’t.” She stepped in front of him, her hand going to her needle, as if she’d done it subconsciously. “We need to go. Now. Not much time remains, I’m afraid.”

“Alright… fine. Lead on.”

Hornet took off towards the well, running so quickly he had to fly to keep pace. Grimm was unsure why he couldn’t bring Ghost, but his curiosity about Hornet’s strange mood pushed this unease aside. He’d tell Ghost later.

As they rushed through the Forgotten Crossroads, Grimm attempted to gain a little information. “Where is this thing you wish to show me? If that’s not too much to ask.”

Hornet did not take the elevator which lead down into the City of Tears. Instead, she slid down a thread of silk, Grimm flying beside her.

“When was the last time you were in the Ancient Basin?” she asked.

“I go to the White Palace often.”

Hornet’s eyes lit up at this. They were running through the rain now. Adventurers watched them from the windows but dared not approach.

“The ruins?” she asked, desperately. “You’ve seen them?”

“No…” Grimm realized. “I go there directly. It has no need for a physical tie.”

“Then let me apologize. You are not going to enjoy this. But it is important you understand the repercussions of what we’ve done.”

No matter what he asked, Hornet refused to say anything further. She just forged onwards, silent and intense. What else could he do but follow? Down they went into the bedrock of the kingdom. It was cold down here, and so silent. There was no sign of life. Had the adventurers and scavengers who occupied the city never attempted to delve deeper? Spending as much time in the White Palace as Grimm did, he was intimately familiar with the Pale King’s architectural style, and it was strange to see it here, almost worn away to nothing. There was something heavier about a physical ruin than a decaying dream. The life he and Ghost had breathed into the palace did not reach here.

The fog of void hung in the air. It was no worse than it was in their throne room, Grimm told himself. He was used to it. It was his, just as Ghost was. But had these veins of darkness always curled so thick through the Ancient Basin? He did not remember. They reached up towards where he knew the White Palace had once been, so many of them in places that he dared not land. This was not where Hornet was leading him. She went deeper still, towards the sealed doors to the Abyss.

“What reason do you have to lead me here?” Grimm demanded. “There is no reason to return to this place.”

Again, she did not answer aloud. Instead, her response was to unsheathe her needle from her back, beckoning him closer. Anxiety gripped Grimm. His voice had been far too loud, perhaps the only sound to disturb this place in a long time.

The doors were already open, the cold nothing-smell of void overwhelming. Hornet walked out onto the platform, watching him and waiting. Below was blackness. Even eyes as sharp as Grimm’s could make out nothing, not even the crumbling ledges he knew to be there. A ball of fire appeared in his shaking hand, and Grimm forced himself to walk to the edge, holding it out over the black. It shone reflected in the void sea, its writhing face a short drop below. Grimm stumbled backwards and Hornet caught him, keeping him upright as his legs weakened.

“It’s rising,” Grimm managed. “It’s almost…” He dared not finish the thought.

The dark liquid was far from peaceful. Tendrils lashed violently at the walls, like they were climbing. Or perhaps it could sense his presence and yearned for what had been denied to it last time. It might have been Grimm’s panicked mind playing tricks on him, but he could have sworn it inched upwards, infinitesimally slow but inevitable in its progress.

“So, you truly had no idea,” Hornet noted.

Her panic had drained away, and she stared down at the rising void with a calm resolve.

“What’s happening?” Grimm begged. “Are you saying this is my doing?”

“That seems obvious enough.”

“What do I do? How do I fix this?”

Hornet shrugged. “I do not know of such things. I am not as you and Ghost are. I am Hallownest’s protector, but I am a creature of the waking world. I know nothing of gods, or dreams, or the minds of bugs. Seeing this, I feel an end finally creeping towards Hallownest, and I am very afraid. So, you tell me, King of Nightmares. What are you going to do? We gave Hallownest to the void willingly. I’m unsure what else we expected.”

“I have to tell Ghost,” Grimm choked out. “They can control the void. They will fix this.”

Slowing shaking her head, Hornet asked, “you honestly believe they do not already know? How could they not feel it?”

“They’ve been with me. We’ve been busy… rebuilding. They love Hallownest. They… we…”

“I’ve hoped similar things in the past, but I have never had your confidence. Ghost is unknowable, just as that is.” She gestured with her needle towards the writhing sea. “Do you truly know all of their current goals? I have seen them moving through Hallownest several times without you.”

“What?” They were always together, weren’t they?

“I’m sorry. I did not relish doing this, but who else was I to come to?”

She was right. After all, he had been given a throne, a tie binding him to this ancient kingdom, tightening like a noose. He had to find Ghost. They were of the void sea, but they were not this mindless creeping thing, posed to consume everything that lay above. Grimm knew that. He knew Ghost. Feeling the petals of the flower he wore on his chest, the tingling magic helped steady him.

~

Ghost was not amongst the tents of the Troupe when Grimm returned to Dirtmouth. Neither were they amongst the nightmare equivalent. Grimm raced across the stage they’d made together, the place on which they’d danced so many times. Then, into the White Palace; broken and burning, but so much more beautiful than it had been before.

“Ghost!” Grimm called, knowing that if his friend were in their domain, they would hear his call.

No answer came. The Royal Retainers bowed as he passed, but they could give him no answers. At the edge of one of the soul fountains sat a pair of godseekers. Grimm went to burn them but hesitated. They waved at him, or were they beckoning? Every time Grimm had seen Ghost in Godhome; had they all truly been involuntary? Grimm had never asked, never checked for the Godtuner. Fear and uncertainty were not common emotions for a being as powerful as Grimm. He felt overwhelmed and powerless, and all he wanted was to see Ghost. Suddenly, he didn’t care what was true and what was unjust paranoia. He didn’t care about the source of the power that had allowed Ghost to unmake the Pale King’s domain with such ease. In that moment, he only wanted to be with them, to follow behind Ghost, regardless of where they lead him.

Putting on his best showman’s smile, Ghost approached the godseekers. “Shall we depart?”

They bowed to him as well, one gesturing towards a golden door he had not previously noticed. It fit easily into the décor of the White Palace, like it had always been there. The other godseeker opened it, standing at attention as the familiar gold-tinted clouds rushed in to great him.

Stepping through, the first thing Grimm saw as the blinding light dissipated, was Ghost. Relief washed over Grimm like a wave, and he reached towards them, calling their name. As always, Ghost was a mask of regal beauty, as tall as The Hollow Knight now, though slimmer than the other vessel, cloaked in smooth shadow. The nail they held was not the delicate thing Grimm had watched them forge and cherish. It was larger, sharpened well, but worn in places like it had not been cared for. This detail only added to his confusion as Grimm approached them, gripping their arm. Ghost tilted their head fondly, nudging Grimm’s horn in greeting.

Gently, Ghost stepped back, pulling themselves from Grimm’s grip. Only then did Grimm realize where they were. They stood in a twisted version of the big top, where they had danced together happily what had to be mere hours ago, except for instead of the bugs of Dirtmouth the stands were filled with godseekers. Overlooking it all from her golden throne was Godseeker and Grimm’s anger kindled, only to realize that—trapped in the arena as he was—he could not harm her.

Ghost bowed to him; their new nail held across their chest. Spotlights circled and music swelled.

“Wait,” Grimm begged. “Stop.”

Raising their head in confusion, Ghost immediately sheathed their nail across their back. Their concern was evident as they turned to look up at Godseeker.

“I talked to Hornet,” Grimm explained. “She brought me to the Ancient Basin… she…”

Ghost had turned away from him, walking towards the golden throne.

“We need to talk,” Grimm called after them. “We should leave. There’s something I need to show you.”

Though it was perhaps apologetic, Ghost shook their head. No. They would not go. Grimm bared his fangs at Godseeker.

“To go now would be to abandon how far it has climbed,” she said. “Still, it craves ascension. You are very wise, Nightmare King, We should have headed your words earlier. This thing; it is strange to Us, but it is not to be ignored.”

What was one more fight? One more dance? Grimm wanted desperately to be near them, unable to bring himself to go. The familiar power of the godseekers’ gaze stoked his fire, burning away the fear and uncertainty.

“Very well,” he addressed both Godseekers and Ghost. “If this is what you want. Let us dance.”

Ghost looked at him, like a question, and Grimm nodded. If he won Ghost would have no choice but to come with him. He’d won last time, after all.

Grimm had believed their performance in Dirtmouth to by one of their best, but it was nothing compared to what they were capable of in this place. They were so much more than the last time they’d fought here. They were rulers, inheritors. Closer than they’d ever been, their movements synced up. In the heat of the dance, Grimm could almost forget what had drawn him here, but he was reminded through the way Ghost’s spells almost blocked out the sky, and by the unfamiliar nail they wielded with a practiced ease. Ghost was not his. They were a shadow. Grimm couldn’t even touch them.

Hitting the ground once more, Grimm knew this would be over soon. He tried to teleport away, but Ghost grabbed his wing, somehow keeping him in place. Stroking his face, Ghost pointed upwards, like an explanation. The sun burned bright over the golden city, closer than before. Then, they stabbed him through the chest. How many times had they defeated each other in dreams? Yet it felt so different as Grimm lay on his back, staring up at Ghost’s familiar mask, slowly fading away.

~

Grimm awoke in the tent in Dirtmouth. All his panic and desperation rushed back all at once, so much worse than before. Even if Ghost did not know what they were doing, Grimm was convinced it would end in disaster. As they ascended, so did the dark sea, rising to consume all of Hallownest. This was his responsibility, his kingdom. Against all warnings, he’d gone to the Abyss, disturbing the slumbering darkness. Grimm could not wish that choice away, could not relinquish Ghost, no matter the cost, but he dashed desperately into the ruins, ready to discover the truth of his decisions. The Nightmare’s Heart beat loud in his chest.

_“Run,” it said. “Run. This kingdom is no more.”_

The Black Egg Temple was empty. Strange, given its popularity amongst the common bugs. Within, Grimm found that the seal of binding had been destroyed. Void seeped from the unprotected egg, filling the temple.

Grimm ran, but not away. He flew deeper, back to the Ancient Basin where this had all begun. He stopped to confront the statue of the king, only to find it had been reduced to rubble. Though he had not been there to witness it, the culprit was obvious. Ghost had destroyed this remaining trace of their father with such violence. Just like the statue of The Radiance Grimm had watched them destroy, no trace of this god remained. Ghost had made sure of that.

Unable to bring himself to descend to the Abyss, instead Grimm went to the palace. Though no longer the runes it had once been, this was not the White Palace. Its rough shape stood imitated by veins of blackness. This was the palace’s shadow, built of void and rubble, and from within Grimm had been unaware.

~

Grimm found himself in the Queen’s Gardens, not entirely sure how he’d gotten there. Desperation drove one to strange things. He needed an ally, needed advice, and only one other true higher being remained in Hallownest. The White Lade waited for him, regarding him sadly as he pushed his way into the central chamber.

“It has been some time, little nightmare. Good time, I believe, but alas, nothing is eternal.”

“You know what’s happening?” Grimm demanded.

“I feel the cold in my roots. I thought perhaps I am growing old, but your eyes tell of something else.”

“I need advice,” Grimm admitted.

How pathetic was he, in all his glory, to beseech the help of a god so faded? The White Lady did not glow as she once had. The chamber was more cramped than he remembered, her own roots tightening around her.

“What could I possibly offer to one such as you? Hallownest is more your kingdom than mine.”

“The void is rising,” Grimm admitted, grudgingly. “Ghost fears The Radiance will return. They are so focused they don’t realize what they’re doing. The Pale King knew more about it than I. I thought perhaps you knew some of what he learned. If I could just get a little control…”

“There is no control to be found,” she apologized, a root brushing softly against his cheek. “I am truly sorry.”

“That’s not true,” Grimm spat, “I’ve seen the lighthouse. I’ve seen his workshop. There must be something. Please. I know they don’t want this either. It’s Godseeker who’s done this to them. The void still takes the form of your children, perhaps you hold some sway over it. If we combine our power—”

“No.” She cut him off, firm and final but without a trace of anger. “I warned you once, but it is far too late now. Go and face what you have wrought. Leave me to face my own mistakes.”

“Look at what we’ve built,” Grimm whispered, “Ghost and I. Hallownest is alive again.”

The White Lady shook her head slowly. “I am very old, Nightmare King. I have seen this all before. I no longer have the will to struggle. If what you say is true and the void rises to consume the kingdom, I welcome it gladly. I have hidden here long enough. It is time I faced my children. There is much I must answer for.”

~

Relic Seeker Lemm sat hunched over his desk. It was late, most of the lumaflies having already gone to sleep. He worked by the light of a single lantern, shaking it to keep the little bugs glowing. In front of him lay an arcane egg, unspooled like an indescribable flower. The shape of it defied description, but he could not tear his tired eyes away from the shifting characters, scribbling endlessly on a stone tablet.

It was in this addled state that Lemm first became aware something was watching him. It was a chill up his spine, a warning of danger he could not see. Grimm stepped from the shadows like a waking nightmare, and Lemm was frozen, unable to breathe.

“What do you want?” he finally forced out, as Grimm had not said a word.

“Have you found anything?” Grimm asked. “In the eggs?”

In this state, Lemm was an open book to Grimm. The relic seeker was caught somewhere between nightmare and waking, and Grimm could see his fear. Grimm’s voice was a deep rumble, made to trigger fight or flight in bugs who heard him, but what scared Lemm even more than the monster before him was the undercurrent of fear in its voice. What, Lemm wondered, could scare something like that? Internally, Grimm cursed himself for being so transparent.

“I need to know about the void,” Grimm continued. “Did the civilization before Hallownest control it?”

Suddenly, Lemm pulled out of Grimm’s grip, sitting up straighter and fixing him with a defiant stare. It was such an impressive feat for an ordinary bug Grimm wasn’t sure how to react.

“It appears we are in a similar position,” said Lemm. His voice shook a little but there was determination in his eyes. “I have information you want, and you have information I want. I propose a trade. This is a shop, after all.”

Grimm snarled, the air around him alighting with red fire. Behind his desk, Lemm cowered, but he did not cave.

“You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t need me, so let’s sit down and talk properly. Let’s start easy. What are you?”

“I am The Nightmare King,” Grimm told him, giving up and slumping into a chair across the desk. “I am a god of many kingdoms, the master of The Grimm Troupe. I came to Hallownest to be reborn, growing large off the smoldering embers of a dying kingdom.”

“Ah,” said Lemm. “Of course.”

There was a certain point after which it became impossible to process surprise, after which everything was just one more thing. It appeared Lemm had reached that point.

“And what about our silent friend?”

“That is more difficult to explain. Ghost is a higher being, just as I am, one born of three others.”

“You were both quite small for gods, when I met you. Only in Hallownest… I suppose.” Despite his dismissive words, Lemm was vibrating with excitement. “I have guesses, but I’ll just let you tell me.”

“Ghost is one child of many. There were countless of their like. The vessels were born or wyrm, of root, and of void.” Lemm did not appear to be processing so Grimm reiterated. “They are the child of the White Lady and the Pale King, hollowed out by the void in the Abyss bellow Hallownest. Before you ask, The Hollow Knight is the same. I believe Ghost considers them to be a sibling.”

“What horrific things lie buried in the past,” Lemm mused. “I dig and dig, dusting off the things in the darkest corners, and all I ever find is death and tragedy. That may have been what I wanted once, coming here, but the thing about finding answers is that things look much less pretty without their mystique.” He sighed. “Perhaps I’m just getting old.”

“I don’t have much time,” Grimm told him. “How much do you know of the void?”

“Until very recently, I’d say less than you, but I believe this void you speak of is the darkness worshiped by Hallownest’s precursor civilization, correct?”

“Correct. Am I to assume that, in your pursuit of knowledge, you’ve never descended to the Ancient Basin below the capital?”

“Long ago, when I was young, expeditions would take me from my normal territory, but back then I could go no deeper than that baffling old door.”

Grimm nodded. “That is probably for the best.”

“From what I can gather, Hallownest’s ancient civilization had a very interesting belief system. Most religions I’ve studied center around a god or pantheon, creators, protectors, monsters that must be appeased.” Lemm paused abruptly. “I apologize. It’s strange to speak of these things now that I know I’ve met gods. That gods are something that can be met.”

“Try not to think about it. I’m not the sort of the god you want to see much of.” Grimm swallowed. “Please… I don’t know how much time we have.”

Lemm’s fear was delicious, though it bore a bitter aftertaste through the knowledge that it was a reflection of his own.

“Right… what was I saying? Oh yes! The precursor civilization’s religion was not a traditional one. Instead of gods they worshiped what appear to be more abstract forces. Though sometimes they are given form and personality… The translation is a work in progress. They believed the world exists as a balance between light and darkness; sometimes referred to as mind and nothingness. These were not benevolent gods by any means, but they weren’t seen as cruel either. They just… _were_. Ancient enemies, these two forces were locked in eternal conflict. The old civilization believed that if either was to triumph over the other it would bring disaster. It was the job of the common bug not to upset this balance, and to help maintain it if need be.” Lemm waited awkwardly for Grimm to respond, but the Nightmare King was reeling, the meaning of what Lemm had discovered too much to process all at once. “Does that make sense with reality as you understand it?” He finally asked.

“Yes,” Grimm responded, a low hiss. “Yes.”

“What is it?” Lemm asked. “What has something like you so shaken?”

“That balance that you speak of,” Grimm spoke slowly, “more ancient than even my Nightmare’s Heart, I believe, was broken in the Pale King’s hubris. It all makes sense now. He kept The Radiance from the dreams of bugs, drew their eyes towards his light, while keeping down the darkness with his pale glow. He may have realized, in the end, that without the shadows to keep her in check, The Radiance had become something too bright to behold. Perhaps that is why he turned to the void he so long supressed.”

“Hallownest fell to the old light?” Lemm asked.

Grimm didn’t even bother to answer. The relic seeker had all the pieces he needed to construct the puzzle.

“If what remains of The Radiance is destroyed,” Grimm continued, “with the void more awake than perhaps it has ever been, even as the god of nightmares, I cannot envision the consequences.”

“Is that happening?” Lemm was alarmed. “Are you going to do something?”

“It’s my fault,” Grimm admitted. “I will do my best to face my choices, but for you I have only one piece of advice. Pack up and run, before the darkness below rises to consume you.”

Lemm nodded grimly. “I don’t feel as if I was any help at all. Where do you put your chances?”

“I won’t fail,” Grimm told him, “And if I do, there will be nothing left of me to know. Once, I was a being of motion. Fire must spread, or it will burn itself out on stale fuel, but I have become tethered to Hallownest. I was given a place here, willingly taken, and I am unsure I would leave, even if I could.”

“I think I am in much the same position,” Lemm smiled kindly. “I have been here a long time, Nightmare King, in this kingdom that is half dream. I am far too old to survive outside its borders, I fear. Though if this is truly the end for me, you have given me the greatest gift I could ask for; more knowledge than I could have ever hoped to acquire. I have spent my whole life chasing history; I am excited to finally witness it. Perhaps one day someone will find my work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I am almost done the last chapter. But if I left this as one it would have been over 10k so here you go, have the first half. The second should be coming very soon.
> 
> Because of COVID-19, my university got shut down so I've had more time to focus on writing! Silver lining on the infection, am I right? The gates of The City of Tears have been shut. Let's hope it'll be at least a few more weeks before we resort to cannibalism. (Damn you radiance.) But in all seriousness, I hope everyone is doing well.


	6. Ascending Darkness (part 2)

Grimm’s domain in Godhome was empty. This mockery of the big top was still filled with phantom music, but the godseekers appeared to be elsewhere. Too bad. Grimm was itching to set someone on fire. In his rage and desperation, he had no trouble forcing his way from the central tower. Flying out over the golden city, Grimm found it was empty as well. The endless, silent hum of the Godseeker’s mind had stilled.

Alighting on one of the golden bridges, Grimm looked up at the sun. It was very bright here. He was not a creature of the light, and it hurt a little to look upon it. Perhaps, with the godseekers behind her, The Radiance could defend herself. Perhaps, as it had last time, their battle would end with them both vanquished: the void sea still and silent, the light banished to the furthest reaches of memory. Despite everything, Grimm could not bring himself to want that. It was easy to condemn the Pale King for his hubris, but hadn’t they both done what they’d done for love? As a wyrm, the Pale King would have loved his kingdom furiously.

The delicate flower still sat in Grimm’s chest, glowing as beautifully as it always had. He touched the petals and found them sturdy. If Ghost was truly gone, if they truly did not care for him, he knew it would crumble to dust as the slightest movement, but it lived on, a spot of calm. Head clearing, Grimm realized he knew where he had to go. The godseekers called to him as they always did, yet they were so far above he feared he could not reach them.

Golden clouds swirled around the top of the central tower, yet they did not block the light. If anything, they magnified it, refracting the sun into a blinding storm, pulsing with power. They were all up there, he knew, their mind focused to a single point of belief. Whoever won they did not care. Either way, they got their God of Gods. They cared not what they destroyed in their pursuit.

As Grimm ascended the pantheon, he passed through the domains of lesser gods. There were many familiar faces, staring at him fearfully as he flew by. Then, he was back in his domain, and he found himself unable to go any further. He could fly, teleport, focus all his power into moving upwards in that massive golden tower, and it would feel as if he climbed to great heights but then he would look to his side and see the entrance to his domain as if he hadn’t moved. Grimm had never been so angry. The disrespect was unimaginable. Who did they dare place above him? He was The Nightmare King, his name whispered in fearful voices across countless kingdoms. He was an heir to this eternal kingdom in which they dared take up residence. He was not a child anymore. He was greater than his predecessor had ever been.

Grimm screamed and suddenly everything was burning. He could feel the Nightmare’s Heart beating in his ears. If this place wouldn’t let him go to Ghost, he would tear it apart. The pantheon was made of strong stuff, but the walls dented under the force of his attacks. Chips of gold and marble crashed down the stairs like a river. Reaching into the nightmare realm, Grimm drew it to him, attempting to corrupt Godhome, bend it to his will. And he found the power he’d been searching for, rushing suddenly through his veins, nearly too hot to bear. Grimm almost collapsed in surprise, but he refused to concede, instead taking to the air once more. Fire enveloped him like a cocoon as he soared upwards. It dripped into his eyes and down his wings. For a moment, he could see nothing but the flames. Then, he burst forth, slamming through the wall of the tower into open air.

He was different—he could feel it—more powerful, more dangerous. He felt raw, like the fire had burned away a layer of protection, exposing his innards. Grimm’s black wings were now a deep red, his features elongated and sharpened. Though he knew who he now resembled, Grimm did not stop to think about it. Above him, he saw what was the top of the tower—at least for the moment—a massive arena surrounded by stands of godseekers. Above the clouds, Grimm could no longer see the city, but he wasn’t looking. He searched only for Ghost.

They were here, of course, cloaked in sleek shadows, their foot resting atop the empty armor of an ancient knight. Below them, the desperate dreams of a maggot twitched pathetically. For good measure, Ghost slammed their new nail through its white body, accelerating its deterioration into essence. The godseekers clapped politely. Soul swirled around Ghost, healing their injuries, as they cast their gaze up towards Godseeker. It was almost as if he could hear them.

_“What next?” _They asked through their silence.

“This ends here,” Grimm answered, and suddenly all eyes were on him. He hovered outside the arena, his new appearance on full display. “Ghost,” he begged. “You have to stop. You don’t understand what you’re doing. If you continue upwards the void will rise and consume Hallownest, and perhaps even more. I know it’s in your nature to reach to consume the light, but you’re more than that now. You have mind. Focus. Will.”

Ghost shook their head. They pointed to themselves, and suddenly their cloak flared out, turning to a writhing, twisting mass of tendrils. Before him stood Ghost, but their shadow spoke of something else, some ancient, unknowable thing. Then, Ghost stabbed their nail into the ground and it was still once more, as smooth as the surface of the void sea under the light of the lighthouse. They stared up at him, their point made.

_“I am in control.”_

Grimm wished he could believe them.

“What you want will upset the balance. Shadow cannot be without light,” Grimm begged. “Is this vengeance of yours truly worth our kingdom? Everything we’ve built?”

In frustration, Ghost turned from him, looking back up at Godseeker. It was ridiculous, given she wore a mask, but Grimm was sure she was smiling; so happy to watch the unravelling of everything Grimm cared about most. She trapped beasts, and heroes, and gods to fight for her entertainment. For her own enlightenment. She was a parasite, and Grimm hated her. With a roar that he was sure must echo to the base of the pantheon, he dove at her. If he ripped out the heart of this place, Ghost would have no door through which to reach The Radiance. With all the heat and power of his new form, Grimm almost touched her, but the rules of Godhome were woven into its fabric. After all, even The Radiance was confined by them.

He was repelled, thrown down into the arena. Barely able to catch himself, Grimm landed in a crouch, his wings billowing around him like a cape. The second he entered the ring, his power transformed it, bringing the nightmare realm so close it bleed into Godhome. The beat of the Nightmare’s Heart set a rhythm, patchwork veins forcing their way through cracks in reality, tearing through the floor, winding up over the edges of the tower. From here, it would be so easy to go home, just a step through the ethereal red curtains.

“Leave with me,” Grimm asked, extending a hand. “We’re not trapped her. She couldn’t keep us if she tried. Please. I can’t lose you to this.”

Ghost did not move.

“Then I will do everything in my power to stop you.” On instinct, he lowered his voice to a growl, trying to remind them that this was not an idle threat.

Looking at Ghost, Grimm realized that for once he could see into their mind. It was so rare that they were afraid, sometimes Grimm forgot they were capable of it. At first, he wondered if they were afraid of him, afraid that facing him in this form would undo all the progress they’d made ascending the pantheon. Then he looked closer, peering into the murky nightmares of a creature that was supposed to be incapable of fear, and saw something else. When Ghost looked at him, they say his predecessor, saw a burning stage covered in patchwork veins, and an impossible dance that ended in death and rebirth. This was an old nightmare, Grimm realized, one they’d concealed from him well. Ghost had always been afraid one of their dances would be their last. Seeing Grimm in this form, they were afraid to fight him.

“Don’t fight me then,” Grimm said, “abandon this quest. Because while I am here, you will go no higher.”

Ghost stood frozen for a long time. Neither of them spoke. There was no sound atop the tower aside for the beating of the Nightmare’s Heart.

“Dost it concede?” It was Godseeker who finally broke the silence. “Wriggle back into the dirt, then, forget of this time it climbed so high. It is unworthy to lay eyes upon what shines above.”

Grimm growled low in his throat. Ghost looked up at her, then up at the sun, so close now it covered half the sky. Then, without warning, they moved, straight at Grimm, through him. Only a shadow, Ghost was very cold. Behind him, they were solid once more, and their nail came so quickly Grimm could not teleport in time. The edge of the blade broke his shell as he vanished in a cloud of sparks. On opposite sides of the arena, they regarded each other. The music swelled to a ground shaking crescendo and their dance began.

There was one advantage Grimm had. Where he could fly, Ghost was confined to the ground. Hovering far above, he raised great pillars of fire. Ghost danced around and through them, trying to reach Grimm, and even this far above, Grimm didn’t want to risk it. Any time they drew near, he teleported away once more. This was not a dance. This was a fight he could not lose. But Ghost appeared not to be content with this game of cat and mouse. From within their cloak, void tendrils erupted, wrapping around Grimm’s legs and yanking him violently downwards. Desperately, Grimm called fire from below, and Ghost was consumed entirely within it. The tendrils retracted, but he was sent skidding across the ground.

Ghost emerged in a blur of shadow, shell scuffed and burned. Grimm had to act now. He couldn’t give them time to heal. He lunged for them, kick as sharp as a nail, but instead of the cracking give of shell, he met only metal. Old and warn as it was, Ghost’s new nail parried his strike smoothly. They were face to face now, Grimm releasing a flurry of blows. Ghost blocked them all, no slower for their size, but Grimm forced them backwards towards the edge of the arena. He would force them off, wrap them in his arms and fall away from the gaze of the godseekers.

The ocean of golden clouds spread out before them, and Grimm aimed a final jab for Ghost’s midsection, but they were no longer there. The vessel leapt into the air, flipping smoothly over him. From above, they released a blast of void magic. Overcome with freezing pain, Grimm pitched off the side. It took him a moment to remember his wings. Shaking himself, he flew back up, but Ghost was waiting for him, unwilling to allow him out of reach again. A hand caught his, in a way reminiscent of past dances, and he was yanked roughly forward, nail tearing through his left wing. Grimm teleported, but it came a moment too late. His flight would be unbalanced now, slower.

Fire surged through Grimm; hot and desperate. He could not lose here. He refused. It was true, he was more than his predecessor. Hallownest had birthed something unlike any iteration of the Troupe Master before him. There was power in the throne he’d been given, and in the pilgrimage he’d taken at Ghost’s side, leaving offerings at the feet of ancient things. Perhaps, Hallownest could not have been reborn without him. He was a god of rebirth after all, along with fire and nightmares. This kingdom knew him now, no longer fighting against him like an immune system expelling an infection. He burned much brighter than when the void had almost consumed him. He refused to be afraid—not of Ghost.

Ghost did not expect the fire that came for them. Grimm could read their surprise as he tapped into a part of himself he’d been thus far unaware of. Great balls of flame rained from the heavens, and Grimm danced once more, his steps leaving burning marks on the stage. The void Ghost summoned looked small against the flickering light, shrinking in on itself. The shadows that danced here were his domain. The blows he landed on Ghost were hard-won, but he did land them. Bit by bit, he chipped away at the perfect mask, until darkness dripped from Ghost’s wounds like blood.

Fire wrapping around him like a shroud, Grimm prepared for what he hoped to be the last blow. Ghost raised their sword to block, but Grimm ducked, coming up from below. His burning kick connected with Ghost’s mask. It shattered, Ghost falling backwards, white shell broken, revealing the gaping nothing that lay behind it. Half their face gone; Ghost was miraculously still conscious. Curling in on themselves, they covered the wound with their arm. In their one remaining eye, Grimm saw anger, and something he did not recognize. Rare as Ghost’s emotions were, it appeared he had not encountered all of them.

“I’m sorry,” Grimm said. “I did this for you as much as Hallownest. I hope one day you can forgive me.”

Then, Ghost screamed, and the power of the sound froze him to the spot. Some of Ghost’s more powerful magics shrieked with the grief of Hallownest’s regrets, but this was more than that. This was deep, and ancient. Unlike before, Ghost’s shattered mask did not mark their end. Instead, void seeped from it, reaching tendrils that reminded Grimm of the rising sea far below. He tried to fly away, but his injured wing made him too slow. They gripped his leg, pulling him down towards the writhing mass of darkness that no longer resembled his friend.

Grimm summoned fire, balls of it spinning around him like a shield, but the void rose up in a massive wave, crashing down upon him. And in its center Ghost charged, their nail shaking slightly as they clutched at the oozing hole in their face. In his last moments, all Grimm could think was that he’d been too late, that he’d already lost them. Then, there was the feeling of a nail against his neck, and the all-encompassing cold of nothingness.

~

Grimm awoke somewhere warm, bright, and unfamiliar. Why had he not awoken back in the big top? Or in the nightmare realm? As his muddled thoughts reorganized themselves, Grimm realized where he was. He was still in Godhome. His body ached, still bearing the injuries of the fight, but Ghost had not killed him. Somehow, they’d managed to both knock him unconscious, and convince Godseeker that was enough to allow them passage upward. Or at least that was what Grimm assumed, seeing as Ghost was nowhere to be seen.

He lay half-submerged in a pool of warm, soul-infused water; his head propped on the edge. The hot spring was soothing, but ultimately little help in healing his battered body. Like all creatures, there was soul in Grimm, but it was not what sustained him. What had brought Grimm back to consciousness had, in fact, been fear. A shroud of it clung to him. He could taste it, drawing strength from it. Ghost had been afraid as they carried him here, afraid enough to leave an echo. Though Grimm doubted dying here would have killed him—a ritual was more than its last dance, after all—Ghost’s concern was appreciated. It meant they still cared. Seeing the terrifying thing escaping from Ghost’s mask, reaching for him like the climbing sea, Grimm had begun to doubt.

Urgency returned all at once, and Grimm staggered to his feet. He wasn’t sure what he intended to do in his current state, but the care Ghost had shown towards him only served to ignite his resolve. It was peaceful in this small room, but over the sound of the water flowing down into the pool, Grimm could make out the faint sound of metal against metal.

He followed it out into what he presumed to be another arena. It was very dark here, and as Grimm attempted to summon fire, he found the flames unnaturally dim, shrinking down until it was a useless point in his palm. Godhome had guided him to the stands, and Grimm rushed to the banister, unable to cross, unable to reach the stage below. The godseekers sat silently in the darkness, watching the fight with frozen anticipation. The room was lit with a pale glow, a stark contrast to the void-stained air. Below, two vessels clashed, mirrors of one another, one black and one white. Though he had never met them, Grimm knew Ghost’s opponent to be The Hollow Knight, returned to their former glory by the adoration of the godseekers. Nail met nail, identical aside from the years of wear Ghost’s had sustained. So that was where they had gotten it.

Finding himself unable to enter the arena, Grimm searched for Godseeker. He was nowhere near full power, and the godseekers looked at him like he wasn’t there, but his desire to see her burn had not abated. Her throne sat apart from the others. Far above, she watched the fight with rapt attention. He found he could not look at it. Their speed was breathtaking. It was void against void, soul against soul. The air was alight with magic and the glint of blades. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Even in the heat of their fastest dance, Grimm knew he’d held no candle to this.

Grimm teleported to the base of the throne, but before he could take to the air, a gasp swept through the crowd, freezing him where he stood. The fight had ended. The Hollow Knight lay defeated. Perfect, white armor shattered; void pooled around them. What had once been the nail of the other vessel was now buried in their chest. Ghost pulled it free, raising it above their head in victory.

He was too late. It was proven now, without a shadow of a doubt; Ghost was the strongest of the children to ever claw their way from the Abyss. They were the master of the void, the true heir to Hallownest. Of course, Grimm had already known all that, but for the godseekers to witness it was a powerful thing.

“Ghost!” Forgetting all about Godseeker, Grimm tried once more to reach them, clawing desperately at the invisible barrier that surrounded the arena. But it was futile. Where Ghost stood was not somewhere Grimm could reach. It was not as close as it appeared. Still, he yelled for them. “Ghost, please!”

A scream split the world in two. It descended from the heavens with the weight of a mountain, and Grimm sunk to his knees, clutching his head. The godseekers were on their knees as well, masks pressed to the ground, whether in deference or to hide from the blinding light that now filled the chamber. The top of the tower crumbled, cracking open as a shaft of sun pierced the darkness. Only Ghost remained on their feet. Gently, they lifted the body of their fallen sibling, pressing their forehead against their cracked mask, like a promise. Then, they turned their head upwards, utterly unafraid. In that blinding spotlight, they looked so beautiful, so serene, for a moment Grimm let himself believe that what lay ahead was only somber vengeance, and not the end of all things. He let himself pray that despite the truths of history Lemm had revealed to him, despite the slow climb of the abyssal sea, Ghost was above their nature.

Then, Ghost was gone, and it was silent at the top of the pantheon. Though light still streamed down from above, it no longer hurt to look at. Grimm could sense that Ghost had moved from this dream into another, but despite his mastery of nightmares, he could not find how to follow. Still, he took desperately to the air, flying upwards into the light. Through the clouds, he could see great shadows shifting, could hear distant, echoing cries. But no matter how he screamed, how the fire burned in his veins, the Nightmare King could go no higher.

Finally, he collapsed back at the base of Godseeker’s throne, shaking from exhaustion and grief.

“Thou are as close as one can come, oh wandering god,” she said, “yet that place is above even thee.”

“Do you know what you’ve done?” Grimm demanded, rising to meet her. He knew the uneven gate of his wings undermined his ordinary frightening presence, but there was also something very dangerous in a cornered animal, and he saw his own desperation reflected in her mask. “What right do you have to come here? To take from Hallownest when you give nothing to it in return?”

“Art thou not much the same?”

Snarling, Grimm grabbed her by the front of her robes. She did not fight, relaxing into his grip. For the first time, he could see her eyes, vacant and fogged with ecstasy. She was barely looking at him.

“Hallownest is in my veins. I was born from its embers. I have walked these lands. I have left my offerings. Your adoration is cheap. You have built nothing here, but you will destroy everything!”

“The bugs of this kingdom will never have to bear the truest of pains.” Her voice was so heavy with joy Grimm recoiled without meaning to, letting her go. It did not matter what he did to her. Godseeker was unafraid. “To die for thy gods, to be ground to dust in the clash of greater things. We would have given anything. For all its silent halls, Hallownest is not a quiet kingdom. When Our gods died, they did not take Us with them.”

Grimm saw her nightmares then, of a desolate land in the shadow of the corpses of higher beings, of a silent mind, of the unimaginable task of sculpting purpose for themselves. For the godseekers, there was no greater pain. What could Grimm do in his anger but offer them the heat they had been so long denied?

“What We have found here,” she continued, gazing up at the shifting clouds above, “art beings greater than those who made Us. Much older and beyond understanding, to what withered to nothing and left Us. Thou love is much like Ours, Nightmare King. Thou shone light into the depths, knowing what thou would find. We have much to thank thee for.”

Despite the futility, Grimm was what he was, and he lunged for Godseeker once more, willing to take off her head for no other reason than the sliver of pleasure it would bring him. Something landed on his hand as it closed around her throat, like a raindrop but far too cold, and far too dark. With a roar, Grimm threw her from her seat, and she crashed to the ground far below. She barely seemed to feel it, staggering to her feet and reaching upwards, grabbing at nothing. Both stared up into what had once been Godhome’s blinding sun, but the sky over the golden city was dark.

It started slowly. Small particles of void fell like rain. Then splattered on the upturned masks of the godseekers, running down the pillars and mixing with the waterfalls. As Grimm stood frozen, the golden clouds were superseded by the familiar haze of void, descending like a storm over the wastes. Darkness streamed down in thick sheets, no longer droplets, and it was only increasing. Had the sea ascended so quickly it was above them? Like water forcing its way through the rock above the City of Tears? No. This was no slow drip. The barrier had shattered. Godhome would drown. Grimm was certain of that.

So, leaving Godseeker to her suicidal bliss, he fled, diving from the pantheon into the city below. Just like him, the godseekers had disturbed the darkness. He recognized their fear as they rushed out into the streets, staring upward with an equal mix of reverence and terror. He knew what fate awaited them, had almost succumbed to it himself, had Ghost not spared him from his foolishness. The Nightmare’s Heart remembered, beating fast and loud in his ears. He would happily leave them to their fate, but the world did not feel right. His awareness of the nightmare realm and Hallownest was replaced with a numbing fog. Though a dream like this could not hold him, even now, Grimm hesitated, afraid of what he would find if he were to return to the waking world.

He’d failed. The Light was surely gone, and he didn’t even know where Ghost was. There was no time to think, no time to consider what this truly meant. In all his panic, he had never had the strength to imagine the truth of the consequences of what he’d done. He’d never imagined facing them without Ghost by his side. Despite knowing it was childish stupidity, Grimm felt that if he could just see them everything would be alright. Though lingering here was not the way to do that. In the dark sky near the top of the pantheon, Grimm saw something moving. A huge shadow shifted in the void vapor. There was something like a scream, echoing across the sea of the godseekers’ shared mind, a shivering gasp from many mouths, and the tower snapped like a twig, crushing a great swath of the city below. It was time to flee.

Grimm tore himself violently from the cloying dream. It released him reluctantly, like the reaching arms of the void, but biting and burning he pulled free, collapsing amongst the kingdom’s discarded remnants. It had been some time since Grimm had come to the junk pit. To his relief, it was the same as it had been the first time. Towering spires of garbage stood many times taller than him. Stagnant water held the noxious stink of the wastes. For a moment, Grimm let himself breathe, let himself forget that this normalcy did not undo the truth that, far below, the void was rising. He curled at the foot of one of the junk towers, like a child at the foot of a bench, knowing it was unbecoming of his status but unable to help himself. He was battered and tired, and so afraid.

Searching for something to hold on to, Grimm plucked the pale flower from his chest, cradling it in his palm. It was a point of calm, a reminder that Ghost cared from him as he cared about them. The pedals were as sturdy and bright as ever. He traced them as his breathing slowed, remembering how it had felt when Ghost gave it to him: the joy, the relief, the overwhelming peace of that grave.

Still clutching it like a lifeline, Grimm got slowly to his feet, and only then did he realize he was not alone. He’d forgotten all about Godhome’s physical tether. The bloated godseeker sat trembling at the foot of its coffin. Grimm had been almost glad to see Godhome consumed, had felt it right they face repercussions for what they’d done. Now, watching void drip from the holes in this bug’s golden mask, he realized how foolish he’d been. Whatever had descended on the pantheon would not be contained so easily. Even he and The Radiance had been confined by the rules of that place. Whatever this was had torn it apart effortlessly.

“Hold on,” Grimm commanded, the godseeker reaching a hand uselessly towards him.

Void poured from its eyes and mouth, and in the pained noise it managed to make Grimm could understand its prayer, its call for help. Grimm wasn’t sure exactly what he intended to do. Perhaps teleport with it to the Abyss then find some way to reseal the door.

He never got the chance to try. The godseeker could hold on no longer, torn apart as void erupted from mind into reality. What emerged was not the mindless flood he’d been expecting. This was not a sea of disparate, reaching tendrils. What rose before him had form. It had eight, pale eyes, and clawed hands emerging from the writhing mass. It had horns like a crown, unfathomable and ancient, perhaps even more so than the Light it had consumed. With it, it brought darkness unlike any Grimm had seen outside the Abyss. Its presence meant the end of Hallownest, perhaps the end of everything.

Grimm knew what it was. Knew who it was. He could feel it in his chest, where the pale flower had sat rooted for so long. Even like this, he could recognize them.

“Ghost?”

They did not answer. He wasn’t sure they’d heard, and if they had, if they even cared. For a moment, he wondered if they had ever felt anything at all. As powerful as he was, Grimm had not been immune to the call of that ancient sea. Ignoring every warning, he’d turned off the lights and extinguished the torches. Hornet was right, they’d given Hallownest willingly to the void. The god that had once been Ghost loomed over him. Void tendrils seeped up from the ground, keeping him in place, though he would have been too frozen to move regardless. Memories rushed back. He remembered how it had felt, pulled down into the shells, surrounded by nothing but freezing, grasping darkness. For a moment, he wondered how he could have been so foolish.

But looking down at the flower in his hand, the traitorous thoughts were banished. Even now, it remained strong. If Ghost’s heart was not as it had been when they gave it to him, it would have no power, crumbling to dust at the slightest movement. Grimm knew this to be true. Yet that knowledge did little to abate his fear. If anything, it was worse to recognize the light behind those eight eyes, to know it was Ghost who would consume Hallownest, snuff out the flames of the Troupe. Yes, for a time there would be great fear, but then there would be nothing. Grimm had felt that nothingness once and remembered it well.

The creature was staring at him. Grimm was overwhelmed by the smell of nothingness, and found that amongst the fear, it stirred something else. It reminded him of Ghost—a good memory, not a bad one—and as one of the massive hands moved to grab him, the pale glow of the flower only increased until he stood in a bubble of light in a dark world.

“Ghost…” he said again, reaching towards them, not recoiling as a part of him desperately wanted to.

They shared a frozen moment. Ghost’s massive claw did not close around him. Was this hesitation? From a being like this, that seemed impossible. If he were to ask… or if he were to fight, and burn, and scream, would Ghost let him go? Perhaps the fondness they’d harbored for him would be enough, or perhaps it would have the opposite effect. The void had been reaching for him for a long time. And even if they did spare him, where would he go? For Grimm, there were no paths in this world that did not lead back to Ghost. Had he not looked the White Lady in the eye and gladly accepted the risks? Had he truly not known what it was he was awakening?

No. Grimm knew very well that fear was a liar. He’d been letting his blind him for far too long. He had thrown himself willingly into the darkness and would do so again. As he’d burned away his weaker form ascending the pantheon in Godhome, he’d promised himself he was done being afraid. If this god was Ghost—as he was sure it was—then he welcomed it. Too long he had rejected a fundamental piece of the one he cared for most. For Ghost, he would embrace the void.

Fire burned along the edges of Grimm’s wings as he straightened up, meeting Ghost’s eyes. Flower clutched to his chest, there were many things he could have said, but he knew none were necessary. They had never needed words to understand one another. Gently, Ghost’s claw closed around him, and the numbness came with it. He was powerless here, strange for a being such as Grimm, yet he welcomed it gladly. Though he did not know what came next, he did not turn away.

The closer the darkness embraced him, the brighter the pale glow of the flower became, until Ghost had him entirely in their grip, their palm contacting the sturdy pedals. Then, there was light. It was incomprehensibly bright, and incomprehensibly powerful. After all, the delicate blossom was as strong as the bond of the creatures it represented.

When the light faded, nothing remained of the two higher beings aside for a lonely flower lying amongst the junk. There was no trace of void nor flame. Far below, the dark sea was still once more, and above, on the surface of the kingdom, the torches of the Troupe sputtered and died. For the first time, Hallownest found itself without ruling gods.

Where the Lord of Shades and the Nightmare King had gone was unknowable. Brought from far away, the delicate flowers were powerful and mysterious. They had within their brittle leaves the same power that had driven the Pale King to madness for his kingdom, the same power that had bade the White Lade give her wyrm the children he requested. It was the power that kept Hornet haunting her mother’s dead kingdom, that had corrupted the king’s Pure Vessel and doomed Hallownest. It had kept Ze'mer trapped in grief until she’d used the flowers she’d brought to free herself. Such a force might seem cruel, but much like the light and darkness worshipped by the ancient bugs, it simply is. Love simply exists, capable of creating both great tragedy and great joy. At least, wherever they had gone, Grimm and Ghost were together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here we are. It's a great feeling to finally be done. This was the kind of story that arrived in my mind fully formed, so it's extra satisfying to see it completed. I'm proud of how it all came together. (Though who knows if that will change in time.)
> 
> I think it's pretty obvious I had this ending in mind since the beginning, though I hope it feels as satisfying for you guys as it does for me. I didn't intend for it to be sad, rather as mysterious and ambiguous as the awesome lore the story is drawn from.
> 
> Please let me known what you think. Even in the far future, when this fic is old I feel like (with this fic even more than others) I would appreciate knowing what readers feel.
> 
> Lovely fanart:  
https://cotillion-the-rope.tumblr.com/post/615954168021221376/i-read-a-fic-a-little-while-ago-and-an-image-from


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